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The Training of Silas 



t 




THE 

TRAINING OF SILAS 


By Rev. E. J. DEVINE, S. J. 
Author of Across Widest America — 
Nenjhundlaud to Alaska'' 


who provokes multitudes^ who forces them to recognixe that their conceit 
is but a form of ignorant hypocrisy^ or vulgarity^ is a benefactor.'" — Spalding 


New York, Cincinnati, Chicago 

BENZIGER BROTHERS 

PRINTERS TO THE HOLY APOSTOLIC SEE 

1906 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

DEC 15 1906 

CopyrlEht Entry 
vOjl-Cf. 

CLASS XXc., No, 
/<c Z 
COPY B, 


Copyright, 1905, by the “Ecclesiastical Review*’ 
Copyright, 1906, by Benziger Brothers 



■'^ 4 ' 


) 


I 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I A Nefarious Scheme Unearthed ... 9 

II The Pastor Begins to “Pull Wires” . 21 

III Three Ladies Drink Tea .... 35 

IV The Pastor Takes the Public into His Confi- 

dence 43 

V Lay Forces are Called into Action . . 51 

VI Human Nature Bobs Up .... 61 

VII A Millionaire with a Hobby . . . . 71 

VIII The Festival in Monument Hall . . . 91 

IX Unrest in the Camp of the Enemy . . 99 

X A Professional Lecturer Causes a Sensation 111 

XI The Fountain in Blenheim Square . . 121 

XII Father Sinclair Begins to Operate on an 

Editor 135 

XIII Burton Assists at an “Auto da Fe” . 147 

XIV Miss Garvey Leads on to Success . .167 

XV The Passing of Little Helen .... 177 

XVI The Free Library Begins its Career . .185 

XVII The Elzevir Makes a Counter-Movement . 197 

XVIII A Winter Episode in Laurenboro . 207 

7 


Contents 


CHAPTER 

PAGE 

XIX 

Brighter Prospects for the Library 

221 

XX 

The Pastor Entertains a Visitor . 

231 

XXI 

Silas and the Chief Have a Long Talk 

241 

XXII 

The Capitulation of Burton .... 

249 

XXIII 

The Millionaire Sees Things from a New 



Standpoint 

261 

XXIV 

Mrs. Melgrove Gives the Chief a Few Emo- 



tions 

277 

XXV 

Silas Maglundy Earns the Gratitude of 



Laurenboro 

297 

XXVI 

A Marriage — and All Ends Well . 

307 


8 


The Training of Silas 


CHAPTER I 

Father Sinclair Unearths a Nefarious Scheme 

rriHE West End of Laurenboro bad been deserted 
all summer. Ever since the first days of July, 
what with barred doors, closed blinds, awnings 
raised, and noiseless streets, the aristocratic section 
of the great metropohs looked like a city of the dead. 
The urban wealth and fashion had transferred its 
quarters for the time being either to the Maine coast, 
with its invigorating salt breezes, or to the cool and 
inviting regions of the Lower St. Lawrence. Those 
who were particularly in search of health and diver- 
sion had gone to the mountain haunts of the 
Adirondacks, or found change amid transatlantic 
scenery and tourist life in the Scotch Highlands or 
the Continental Alps. Altogether the West End had 
been vacated, and except for the appearance, here 
and there, of some solitary gardener aimlessly wan- 
dering about the premises, and the undisturbed 
9 


Father Sinclair Unearths 


warbling of the song-birds in the maples, there was 
absolutely no sign of life. 

No such changes had taken place in the Gottingen 
quarter, where the poor and the working classes 
lived. There the warm summer months were spent, 
as usual, amid the ceaseless hum of factory life. 
Men and women bustled and toiled from dawn to 
night, in shop and workroom, in courtyard and 
street, for the bread they were to eat. For them 
there was no season of sight-seeing; no ocean breeze 
or bracing mountain air, which God had made so 
liberally ; and if the stirring summer wind, that gently 
fans the cheek of rich and poor alike, found its way 
into the Gottingen quarter, it had already lost half 
its freshness and soothing power. For all that, the 
want of bodily comforts did not destroy the peace of 
mind in the poor people who dwelt here. They were 
Catholics for the most part, who, faithful to the 
teachings of the Church, did not look on poverty as 
an evil, but rather as a means to help them to procure 
an eternal reward in heaven. The Gottingen poor 
were satisfied with their condition. 

To will what God doth will, that is the only science 

That gives us rest, 

was a lesson they had long since learned; and 
contentment, if not gratitude for their lot, reigned 
among those who toiled for their daily sustenance. 

10 


A Nefarious Scheme 


Father Sinclair spent much of his time among 
them. During the summer months, when he took 
the annual parish census, he made it a point to 
welcome the new arrivals whom the immigration 
season usually brought in considerable numbers. 
It was then also that he made his plans for their 
betterment, through the organized means of parish 
unions among the well-to-do people in the neighbor- 
hood, who were practically out of his reach during 
the vacation season, but on whom he depended 
during the winter months for practical assistance. 
He himself rarely took a midsummer holiday. Not 
that the pastor of St. Paul’s was averse to legitimate 
recreation. On the contrary, he often urged those 
of his flock who, whilst they had the means and 
leisure to go out of town, hesitated to abandon 
certain works which they had undertaken at his 
request, to spend some weeks away from the stifling 
surroundings of Laurenboro, and to seek the whole- 
some atmosphere of country or seashore life. His 
own interests, he more than once asserted, did not 
permit him to leave his post, unless it were for a 
short trip over the Great Lakes and down the river 
to the Gulf. And that luxury he had allowed 
himself but once in the ten years of his residence 
in the metropolis. When his people argued the 
matter with him, he readily acknowledged the 

principle of necessary recreation even for the shep- 
11 


Father Sinclair Unearths 


herd of souls, after the arduous work of a twelve- 
month’s ministry in a large city; indeed, he never 
denied that a few weeks of rest in some quiet nook 
on the seacoast would have been a welcome change 
to him. But the trouble was he could not find the 
time. The clergy of the Religious Orders, who 
might have taken his place at other seasons of the 
year, were busy themselves during the summer 
months, giving retreats and preparing for mission 
or college work to begin in the autumn. At other 
times of the year, the interests of his people did not 
permit him to leave his flock. 

Father Sinclair’s habit therefore was to stay at 
home; but what recreation and useful information 
the want of travel and actual observation deprived 
him of, he amply made up for by useful reading.* 
His taste — one might say his passion — in this direc- 
tion was apparent to any casual visitor at the glebe- 
house. Books filled every nook and comer of the 
modest dwelling, including bedroom and hall. 
History, science, philosophy, poetry — treasures of 
thought and truth — carefully selected, were at his 
beck and call. He loved to hide himself away with 
these silent companions, in the quiet hours of the 
night, to commune with the ever-living thoughts 
of vanished minds, to stray into new fields of useful 
knowledge, to trace the tangled paths of legitimate 
speculation, to lose himself in the reveries of scientific 
12 


A Nefarious Scheme 

dreamland. With Mrs. Browning, he beheved that 
We get no good 

By being ungenerous, even in a book. 

And calculating profits — so much help 
By so much reading. It is rather when 
We gloriously forget ourselves, and plunge 
Soul-forward, headlong, into a book’s profound, 
Impassioned for its beauty, and salt of truth — 

’Tis then we get the right good from a book. 

One evening in the first week in August, he was 
seated in his study, carefully perusing a document 
which had reached him in the morning’s mail. It 
was the semi-annual Report of the Elzevir Library, 
a pamphlet skilfully tabulated and printed, so that a 
reader could take in at a glance the work of that 
institution during the preceding six months. 

Owing to the initiative of the Directors, the 
“Elzevir” had been a prominent name for years in 
Laurenboro. Founded by non-sectarian enterprise, 
it had remained a non-sectarian institution. Hence 
it did its best to please everybody. Readers of books 
in the city and suburbs all knew the way to the 
Elzevir on Fessenden Avenue; so that the pastor 
of St. Paul’s was not surprised to learn, when he 
laid down the Report, that the circulation had gone 
into the thousands and was continually on the 
increase. 

The needless emphasis laid upon the “non- 
sectarian ” character of the Library by its promoters 

had often made Father Sinclair suspect that all was 
13 


Father Sinclair Unearths 


not right there. So far as he knew, Catholics had 
no voice in the management of the institution. The 
Board of Directors was made up of members of 
different religious denominations; and, as he had 
been informed, there was at least one professing 
atheist among them. He was aware, too, that 
many books antagonistic to truth were to be found 
on the shelves of the Elzevir, although the tabulated 
Report before him was silent regarding this phase 
of the circulation, and in fact no hint whatever 
was given as to the number of religious books called 
for by readers. A statement throwing light in this 
direction would have interested Father Sinclair 
very much. One paragraph in the Report, however, 
caught his eye. It mentioned the fact of a recent 
legacy amounting to twenty-five thousand dollars 
which had been left to the institution. The passage 
that struck Father Sinclair read as follows : 


“ The Directors are aware that while they desire to 
keep the Elzevir strictly non-sectarian, the presence of 
many religious denominations in Laurenboro renders it 
necessary to provide literature to suit the peculiar views 
of all, if their patronage is to be retained. Resolved 
therefore, that the legacy of twenty-five thousand dollars 
recently bequeathed to the Elzevir, be expended in aug- 
menting the supply of denominational literature, and 
in facilitating the circulation thereof. ’ ’ 

Here was food for reflection; and the pastor 
reflected deeply. Laurenboro, a city more than 

half Catholic, without a Catholic library, was about 
14 


A Nefarious Scheme 


to have a carload of denominational literature flung 
broadcast among its people. What sort would it 
be? How much of its anti-Catholic poison would 
be likely to find its way into Catholic homes? — for 
“Denominational Literature” unquestionably meant 
Protestant literature, with its prejudices, its mis- 
statements, its bitterness against the Catholic 
Church. No one who had any knowledge of current 
works dealing with the subject of religion could 
have a doubt that by far the larger number of 
books which the Elzevir directors were likely to 
place on their shelves would be antagonistic to 
the faith of Father Sinclair’s people. The pastor 
left his chair and paced the floor. 

A great idea had suddenly flashed on his mind. 
As he paced slowly up and down the room, a scheme, 
shadowy, at first, and indistinct in its outlines, began 
gradually to unfold itself and take on a definite 
shape. Before he came to a halt he had determined 
on a plan of action. The case was clearly urgent; 
something must be done at once. 

A few minutes later he turned down the light and 
went out on the balcony, a quiet, retired nook on 
the south side of the rectory overlooking the Brono. 
The house had once been the centre of an inde- 
pendent suburb, which in the course of time had 
coalesced with, and been incorporated into, the 
neighboring dty; while its subsequent development 
15 


Father Sinclair Unearths 


in other directions had left the church and glebe- 
house on the outskirts of the parish. From the 
pastor’s point of view there was some compensation 
for this, however, in that he was here within easy 
reach of the factory quarters which constituted the 
heaviest part of his parochial responsibilities. The 
night was exceedingly beautiful; there was not a 
cloud in the sky. From her coign of vantage in the 
heavens the moon was flooding the earth with light, 
and its rays, glinting on the surface of the river, 
made it shine hke burnished silver in the distance. 
The only sounds to be heard were the muffled beat 
of a steamer’s paddles, an occasional plash of oars, 
and the final strains of a band playing in the Eagle 
Rotunda, nearly a mile away. Directly opposite 
could be seen the dark outlines and myriad lights 
of a large steamer moving swiftly downstream. 

For a few minutes the pastor remained motionless, 
drinking in the calm beauty of the scene; and then 
gradually his thoughts drifted back again into their 
former channel. 

“Why not.^” he continued to muse. “Why 
should not Laurenboro, with its fifty thousand 
Catholics, have its own Catholic Library.'^ In this 
city our foundlings and orphans are housed and 
cared for; our poor are clothed and fed; the aged 
and incurable are soothed in their last days; here 
every form of physical infirmity is tenderly cared 
16 


A Nefarious Scheme 


for by Catholic charity. Is it not possible to be 
equally generous in allaying the infirmities of the 
mind.^ Thousands of dollars are spent every year 
by us in the care of diseased human bodies. Out- 
side the ministry of the priesthood and the work of 
our two colleges and convents, what is Catholic 
charity in Laurenboro doing for souls ? In this city 
we have no public sources of knowledge but the 
daily press and the Elzevir and Humboldt libraries. 
For years, hundreds of my flock have had to depend 
on these doubtful sources for their mind-food. And 
is not intellectual poverty and corruption a far 
greater evil than any that can afflict the body.^ 
What a change for the better would take place in 
the mental condition of our people, if healthy read- 
ing were provided for them. The result would be 
sound thinking, and its inevitable sequel, sound 
living.” It was thus that the pastor mused. 

Father Sinclair was a man of many resources; 
but he was the first to admit that, no matter how 
cogent the motives, the work of starting a new 
library under Catholic patronage in a city where 
two large book centres for the accommodation of 
the general public existed already, had many thorny 
sides to it. St. Paul’s parish was, moreover, one 
of the smallest in Laurenboro. It embraced, as 
already stated, the new factory sites and tenements 
of the Gottingen district. This was on one side; on 
17 


Father Sinclair Unearths 


the other, where the lowlands led up to Ashburne 
Avenue, there lived a few of the wealthier famili es; 
there was hardly any middle class. The people wt e, 
as a rule, and according to their means, generous in 
the support of the parish. In the beginning, how- 
ever, there had been some who showed themselves 
inclined to look askance at the zeal of the young 
pastor, and rather discouraged one or two of his 
projects for the betterment of the people, taking for 
granted that an excess of enthusiasm is best met by 
an excess of reserve. Perhaps their attitude found 
its justification in some unpromising financial ven- 
tures of one of the former pastors of the parish; but 
on this he did not reflect. He only recalled the 
struggle into which he found himself forced when 
he began the parochial school in Gottingen; also 
the almost cynical indifference which he encountered 
fiom the professional men of his district when he 
had undertaken to make some move toward ma n- 
taining a distinctly Catholic social life among the 
students — strangers in Laurenboro — ^who attenced 
the Royalview University; there had likewise been 
a strong and unrelenting opposition to his personally 
undertaking the purchase of a section of the Helerand 
estate to serve as a home for incurables. But in 
these enterprises — to mention no others of a similar 
character — he had managed to overcome opposition 
and indifference by that quiet persistence which 
18 


A Nefarious Scheme 


secures success in the work undertaken; and the 
'^^ry first to congratulate him on the evidence of 
E^^tual results were those who had in the beginning 
bitterly opposed him. 

These somewhat discouraging memories were still 
vivid before him, and Father Sinclair was forced 
to calculate in advance with the uprising of diffi- 
culties, much harder for the average sensitive man 
to overcome than physical hardship or mental labor 
in a good cause. On the other hand, he remembered 
the devotion with which the bulk of his people 
had stood by him, freely opening their purses when 
he had shown to them the feasibility of a work, or 
when their own eyes had made it evident to them. 
On the whole the experiences of the last ten years 
rather encouraged him to try to solve the problem. 
He went back to his study and sat down to work 
out the details. 

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CHAPTER II 


The Pastor Begins to “Pull Wires” 

ri^HE summer months passed rapidly away. When 
October came, it brought with it a return of 
activity in the West End. Draymen laden with 
trunks; carpet-beaters at work; gardeners cropping 
the great undulating lawns and the summer’s growth 
of shrubbery; maids rubbing a three months* dust 
from the steps and windows, — all bespoke an 
awakening in the fashionable part of Laurenboro. 
Soon the heavy carriages, rolling up to the mansions 
on Ashburne Avenue, told the passers-by that the 
elite had returned to resume their routine life of 
pleasure for the winter. 

It was a raw and dreary afternoon, enlivened by 
a brisk gale from the southeast. The trees along 
the great wide avenue were shedding their sere 
leaves in myriads, and carpeting the gray asphalt. 
Workmen were busy putting up the winter windows 
in the Melgrove mansion, covering the flower-beds, 
tying down the ivy, and preparing for the long white 
season, which, coming as it did rather early, threat- 
ened to be more severe than usual. 

In a small rear parlor sat Mrs. Melgrove and two 
21 


The Pastor Begins 


ladies, discussing the summer’s outing. The hostess 
had just returned from Europe the week before 
and was giving her impressions. She was a tall 
finely-proportioned woman of middle-age, with a 
genial manner and the evidences of culture in 
language and movement. She had been blessed 
with a goodly share of the world’s wealth. During 
the past twenty years, her leisure moments, spared 
from her family, a husband and a little daughter, 
had been devoted to helping the poor, visiting the 
city hospitals and the sick in their homes. It was 
nothing to surprise anyone that the name of Mrs. 
Horace Melgrove should stand at the head of, and 
be identified with, several of the pious associations 
attached to St. Paul’s Church. 

Her two lady visitors were likewise well known 
as associates with her in various schemes for the 
betterment of the poor. The elder. Miss Rayford, 
was a quiet little woman of a distinctly literary turn 
of mind. She had, indeed, for years taken very 
great interest in works of outdoor charity, but never- 
theless she still found time to write attractive stories 
and essays of a thoughtful character that made her 
known in many homes, not only of her own city, but 
abroad. 

The other person in conference with Mrs. Mel- 
grove was Mary Garvey, a lady somewhat vivacious, 
impressionable, open to a fault, and very energetic 
22 


To “ Pall Wires ” 


in carrying out anything she had once undertaken. 
She never seemed to feel the slightest hesitation in 
telling others her opinion of them; but her manner 
and tone robbed her outspoken way of the offensive 
element so commonly associated with criticism. 
This alone would explain how she managed to keep 
herself out of trouble. But there were other reasons. 
The fact is. Miss Garvey was liked by everybody in 
St. Paul’s parish; for no one doubted that her plain- 
speaking proceeded from an honest heart. Her 
parents, who had been in moderately good circum- 
stances, died when she was but a httle child. She 
had fallen heir to a modest competency, which 
allowed her ample leisure to devote herself to good 
works, a privilege she did not fail to use. For some 
years, Mrs. Melgrove, Miss Rayford, and Miss 
Garvey had been, as already intimated, the recog- 
nized leaders in every charitable movement intro- 
duced among Father Sinclair’s people. Today 
they were to meet their pastor at Mrs. Melgrove’s 
house to talk over some enterprise which he evidently 
had in view. 

“I wonder what it can be,” said the hostess, 
looking at the note from the priest which she held 
in her hand, but the brief contents of which furnished 
no adequate clue as to the object of the meeting. 
“No doubt, Father Sinclair has some new scheme 
for the young people, but it is rather early to get us 
23 


The Pastor Begins 


to work, with all the domestic and social demands 
of the return season upon us. Someone told me in 
Paris that the scheme for establishing parish beds 
in the Contagious Hospital had failed.” 

“Of course, it failed,” returned Miss Garvey. 
“What else could you expect The Newell family 
left town the very day our Hospital Committee was 
to meet; and naturally the outsiders stepped in and 
we lacked the requisite number of votes, — so there 
you are.” 

“There is something new brewing, at all events,” 
said the hostess, smiling. 

“Undoubtedly,” replied Miss Garvey. “I was 
out yesterday when Father Sinclair called, and I got 
his note only an hour ago. But from a few words he 
dropped in my hearing the other day, I infer that 
he plans some scheme for purchasing books. Did 
you know that the Elze\’ir people were going to 
extend their library along Fessenden Avenue?” 

“I saw something to that effect in the Times 
yesterday — ^you may be sure they will succeed in 
getting the necessary appropriation; they can control 
public patronage,” answered Mrs. Melgrove. 

It was close on three o’clock when the door-bell 
rang. A moment later Father Sinclair was ushered 
into the small parlor where the ladies were waiting. 

He was a tall, well-built man, though seemingly 
not strong, about forty years of age, or a little more, 
24 


To “ Pofl Wires 


with an expression of face that indicated at once 
energy and delicacy. People recognized him as one 
of the prominent citizens of Laurenboro; and whilst 
one might have observed a certain reserve between 
the priest and the official arbiters of the town with 
whom he was thrown in contact, there was no lack 
of courtesy on either side when they met in the public 
thoroughfares. 

Soon after his ordination, seventeen years before. 
Father Sinclair had been appointed parish priest in 
a small village on the coast, where his duties were 
light, and where he had ample time for self -improve* 
ment. There he had enjoyed a season of compara- 
tive leisure and solitude, which had become for him 
an unconscious preparation for more difficult tasks 
in the future. He had found time for study, even 
for writing; and his articles in the different maga- 
zines, together with a published volume on the 
attitude of the Church towards Evolution, had 
given him a reputation for studious habits among 
his brother priests. It was not many years before 
his Ordinary felt that he might safely entrust the 
more important interests of a city parish to the zeal 
and prudence of the young priest; accordingly, upon 
the first vacancy in Laurenboro, he was notified that 
he was to be transferred thither. 

The proposed change was a sore trial to him. 
His more intimate friends were well aware that it 
25 


The Pastor Begins 


would cost him no little sacrifice to put away his 
books, or, at least, to give up the solitude and 
leisure which made them especially valuable to him. 
He also loved his little flock and regretted to part 
with them, whatever else might be in store for him. 
By nature sensitive, retiring, a lover of the good and 
beautiful in art, he dreaded the responsibilities of 
the ministry, together with the noise and bustle, of 
a large city. Hence, when the formal offer of the 
pastorship of St. Paul’s came to him, he requested 
his superiors to let him retain his cure in Rockdale, 
where he was contented and thought himself useful 
to a degree in proportion with his talents. But 
the Archbishop knew the pastor better than the 
pastor knew himself, and insisted that he comply with 
his wishes. And Father Sinclair, known to but few 
people outside his immediate circle, was promptly 
installed in the vacant parish, much to the surprise 
of older candidates and their friends. 

Ten years had elapsed since then, and during the 
decade the pastor of St. Paul’s had distinguished 
himself as an organizer who could sustain and carry 
to completion any work he had seen fit to undertake. 

“You are more punctual than I, ladies. I hope I 
have not kept you waiting, although even that can 
scarcely have been a hardship in Mrs. Melgrove’s 
cosy parlor this bleak afternoon,” said Father 
Sinclair, genially, as he took his seat at the vacant 
26 


To “ Poll Wires " 


side of the table. “You are curious to know, 
doubtless,” he continued, “why I have asked you to 
meet so early in the season. It is to discuss a plan 
which seems to me feasible enough, if we get the 
proper support from our own people. If we succeed 
in carrying it through, it will do untold good in 
this city, chiefly among our children and young 
people.” 

He drew a notebook from an inner pocket and 
took out a small sheet of paper on which he had 
jotted down some items for direction. 

“You may have seen,” he went on to say, “that 
the Elzevir — ” 

Miss Garvey gave a nod to the other ladies, as 
much as to say, “ I told you it was a book scheme.” 

“ — ^has been making bids during the summer to 
secure a larger patronage. There has been quite 
recently a bequest of twenty-five thousand dollars, 
which is intended, I am reliably informed, to extend 
the circulation of reading matter that trenches 
directly upon religious ground. At the same time, 
efforts are being made to get our children to patronize 
the library. I had a visit from two of the directors 
a few days ago. Their plan is to establish a Chil- 
dren’s Department, and to augment their stores of 
denominational literature. In order to do that, they 
are making arrangements to get some of our own 

wealthy people interested.” 

27 


The Pastor Begins 


‘‘ They’ll get Mr. Maglundy, sure, if they go after 
him,” softly interjected Miss Garvey. 

“Now, you know, ladies, as well as I do,” con- 
tinued the pastor, marking the interruption by a 
pleasant nod of his head, “what a misfortune such 
an addition would be in a city like ours. There is 
to be no discrimination in the choice of books as far 
as religion is concerned. Everything is to be free 
and unsectarian. This was one of the provisions in 
the will of the benefactor; indeed, the directors who 
came to see me insisted on this point, as though it 
were a likely inducement to gain my approbation to 
the scheme of what they consider a public service of 
equal rights. Now non-sectarianism means non- 
Catholic; it means that no preference is to be shown 
to any religion; it means indifferentism; it assumes 
the absurd tenet that God could be as well pleased 
with one religion as with another. It means that 
two men may propagate contradictory doctrines, and 
yet both be right. Now this is false; this is not even 
common sense. A denominational library here in 
Laurenboro including all sorts of pleas for and 
against religion would be a danger for our non- 
educated Catholics, because it would be unfair to 
their own creed, and we must do our best to keep 
it from doing them harm. 

“Here, ladies, is a question for you to answer.” 
Father Sinclair consulted his notes. “ St. Paul’s is a 
28 


To “ Pan Wires " 


small parish, but we have, in this large city, over 
fifty thousand Catholics, with many wealthy families 
among them. Would it not be possible, by doing 
a httle energetic work, to begin a library of our own 
— on a small scale at first — ^to meet this great want 
in our city.^ The collection of good books would 
not be so very difficult a matter; for we need not 
doubt that as soon as our people see the benefit 
which accrues to the Catholic cause from such an 
enterprise, they will aid it. I have no doubt that 
in time we shall find some generous benefactor to 
whom the matter appeals equally strongly, and it 
will not be many years before we shall have a Catho- 
lic library such as we may be proud of.” 

‘‘Pardon me. Father,” intermpted Mrs. Melgrove, 
smiling, “if I seem to discourage your project. I 
fear it will be hard to awaken the enthusiasm among 
our people to sustain the beginnings of such an enter- 
prise. I need hardly say that, viewed from a personal 
standpoint and considering our needs, the scheme 
deserves our whole-souled approval. But it means 
so much. Am I wrong, for example, in thinking 
that it means that we should have to get a central 
site, a place in the city accessible to the Catholics 
from all parts ? If we could open a library here in 
our own neighborhood, there might be only a little 
or at least less diflSculty; but then who would come 
to it from town ? Who would be willing to aid us 
29 


The Pastor Begins 


outside our own small parish of St. Paul’s ? Apart 
from the cost of maintaining a building or rooms in 
a convenient locality at a probably high rent, not 
to speak of purchase, how should we get a sufficient 
stock of really good books to satisfy those readers 
who are now drawn to the Elzevir and Humboldt 
libraries, because they find there almost any book 
they wish to call for ? You would have to engage a 
number of salaried librarians and secretaries, — 
which means constant and considerable expense. I 
speak with some assurance on the subject, because 
I have been interested in, and once tried, a similar 
scheme, years ago in the Provinces. We started 
under the most favorable auspices, with a building 
excellently located. But eventually we found the 
expenses for rent, salaries, the renewal and purchase 
of books, and other unforeseen items, such a drain 
on our resources that we were obliged to give 
up the matter in order to ward off serious 
complications.” 

“If you will allow me,” said the priest, turning 
over his notes, “I have already given thought to 
what seemed to me the most likely and reasonable 
objections. Let me answer those that you have just 
made, Mrs. Melgrove.” 

While he was speaking, a maid came softly into 
the room and set a match to the spirit lamp; in a few 
minutes the samovar was steaming. 

30 


To “ Pall Wires " 


“In the first place, as to the site,’’ continued 
Father Sinclair, “there is our Young Men’s Club 
which is sufficiently central; the electric cars i*un all 
around it to every part of the city. On the second 
floor they have a very large room all wainscoted and 
tiled and heated by steam, which has been used as a 
general meeting-place in the evenings. The com- 
mittee in charge of the club have told me that we 
may fit up this hall as a library in a way which need 
not divert it from its present use. They are perfectly 
content that we should have the place for an in- 
definite period without cost.” 

“ There might be some opposition to putting our- 
selves under obligation to any local parish organiza- 
tion for the purpose of supplying reading matter 
for the others,” urged Mrs. Melgrove. 

“Such an objection would be entirely unreason- 
able,” replied Father Sinclair. “ I do not think that 
we can please everybody; and surely that should not 
prevent us from working.” 

The ladies smiled acquiescence. 

“Let me dispose of your other objection, — ^the 
appointment of a librarian and salaries. As the 
proposed scheme could take the shape, at present, 
of only a circulating library, until we see our way 
clear to do something more, there is no reason why 
a couple of hours a week should not be sufficient to 

exchange books. Could we not secure the services 
31 


The Pastor Begins 


of say five or six young ladies for two hours every 
Wednesday and Sunday afternoon?” 

“ There is no doubt about it,” said Miss Ra3dord, 
who had kept silent up to this. “I know several 
who, I am sure, would be willing to come — ” 

“And Miss Garvey herself here,” broke in Mrs. 
Melgrove; “she has had several years’ experience 
in the Humboldt Institute. How many, Mary?” 

“ Barely five,” the young lady answered, smiling. 

“And thus endeth objection number two,” said 
Father Sinclair. “ Let us examine the third. This, 
to my mind, is the really serious one. Where are we 
going to get the books? It seems to me that we 
might organize a few Collecting Committees whose 
duties would be to look up old family libraries, whose 
owners might have no particular use for the volumes 
and be willing to give them as the nucleus for the 
forming of a Catholic public library. I know per- 
sonally several families in this city who have books 
lying uselessly in closets and garrets, and who 
would be glad, I am sure, to donate them to an 
undertaking of this kind. All such books might not 
be equally useful, but the larger number would, 
no doubt, prove very acceptable, under the circum- 
stances. Others we should, of course, have to 
purchase, and the money for that purpose would 
have to be collected.” 

“Couldn’t our friend across the avenue, Mr. 

32 


To “ PoH Wires ” 


Melling, be prevailed on to give us a few?” asked 
Miss Rayford; ‘‘and Mr. Homer Stewart? They 
belong to us. They both give gold medals yearly 
to Royalview University; they helped to complete 
the Observatory. Surely it would not be difficult 
to induce them to donate fifty volumes each, if they 
were approached in the right way.” 

“ I never had occasion to come into close contact 
with the gentlemen you mention. Miss Rayford. 
They belong to St. Basil’s,” interposed the pastor. 
“But my experience has taught me that there is 
little to be expected from our wealthy men who 
figure as nominal Catholics, unless you can hold out 
to them some equivalent of honor or fame, which I 
fear is not to be gained by this apparent opposition 
to the more popular schemes in behalf of our existing 
and, in a sense, municipal libraries.” 

“Once more,” insisted Miss Garvey, “I suggest 
the name of Mr. Silas Maglundy as a candidate for 
prospective honors in this line. He is not committed, 
I think, to any allegiance with the Elzevir people — 
at least not yet.” 

“Who is this Silas Maglundy, Miss Garvey?” 
asked Father Sinclair, looking up from his note- 
paper. 

“Why, have you not heard? He is one of our 
recent arrivals, ” answered the little lady. “ He has 
taken that large house, with the splendid grounds, 
33 


The Pastor Palis Wires^^ 


corner of Howarth and Buell. They say he is a 
millionaire and a Catholic.” 

“ A combination that one does not meet with very 
frequently,” returned the pastor. “Howarth and 
Buell Streets are within the limits of St. Paul’s. I 
shall have to call on him and get him interested in 
our works. That’s all.” 

Father Sinclair stood up. 

“Now, ladies, will you ponder over this matter? 
But, of course, no cold water on it! We must do 
something even as a matter of self-defence. Talk 
it over as to what are the best means by which we 
can succeed. If agreeable and convenient to you, 
we might meet again this day week — anywhere you 
decide upon, if you will kindly let me know the place 
and time. Pray excuse me now. I have an appoint- 
ment with His Grace at four o’clock.” 

A few minutes later the genial pastor had dis- 
appeared down the avenue, crossed the square, and 
stood at the door of the Archbishop’s residence. 


U 


CHAPTER III 


Three Ladies Drink Tea and Discuss the 
Pros and Cons 

you were right, after all, Mary,’^ 
^ » said Mrs. Melgrove, when she had re- 
turned from the door. “Father Sinclair does not do 
things by halves. To my mind this library scheme 
has many attractions. The site is an ideal one. I 
know the room; it opens out on the street in a long 
wide entry. There would be no great difficulty in 
securing librarians; we can easily get them. But 
I confess I am not yet satisfied with his answer to 
my third objection, — ^the difficulty of securing the 
books.’’ 

“Nor I,” rejoined Miss Rayford. “Father Sin- 
clair’s suggestion is hardly practical. Soliciting 
cast-off books from Catholic families is not satis- 
factory to me. We might get a few books — a few 
Scotts, or Dickenses, or Newmans — these we should 
have to keep in stock any way, and they would be 
useful. But a circulating library must be up to 
date. The latest books must be purchased as soon 

as they are issued; and we cannot surely depend on 
35 


Three Ladies Drink Tea and 


the casual gifts, as he suggests, for our literature.” 

Meanwhile the hostess had been looking after the 
samovar, and Miss Garvey was getting the cups 
and saucers ready. 

“Father Sinclair’s plan,” ventured Mrs. Mel- 
grove, while pouring out the tea, “ is rather to have 
families donate a certain number. If each were to 
contribute, say ten volumes, the shelves would be 
quickly filled.” 

“But don’t you see. Madam,” urged Miss Ray- 
ford, “that if we had no choice in the selection, we 
should be getting the same authors over and over 
again. Our people are not a reading class. The 
few who indulge in that pastime have their wants 
supplied by the Elzevir and the Humboldt. You 
will find very few of the modern writers in private 
libraries. Old ones satisfy our people in this respect. 
Asking families to donate a dozen volumes each 
might succeed in filling the new library shelves, if 
things were seen as Father Sinclair sees them. But 
think of the task before us! Besides, for other 
reasons, I have misgivings as to the result of this 
undertaking. When you go to ask our wealthy 
Catholics in this city for a donation to some good 
work, you are always met with the old song: ‘We 
have so many other things to keep up ’ ” — 

“Yes,” broke in Miss Garvey, almost savagely, 
“ and they spend more in one week in useless amuse^ 
36 


Discuss the Pros and Cons 


ments than they spend in a year in charities. I 
know it, for I live among them.” 

“Is not that a little exaggerated?” asked the 
hostess, timidly, as she brought the tea-tray to the 
table. 

“Exaggerated! At Tannhauser^ last week, the 
Fells family, and the Newells, and the Molveys 
occupied boxes that must have cost them at least 
thirty dollars apiece. And that opera cloak worn 
by Mrs. Helerand is valued at something like a 
thousand dollars, I hear.” 

“ Well, Mary, here is a chance for you to do some- 
thing. Shall we call it ‘slum- work’ ?” suggested the 
hostess. 

“That is the word; and I certainly will go into it. 
I know Mrs. Helerand personally, and I am as- 
suredly going to call on her. It is about time that 
these people were brought to their senses. They 
are doing almost nothing for the Church or her 
works; and when they do ever so little, we are sure 
to learn all about it in the Times next day. Isn’t 
it wearying?” 

This short speech was uttered by the little lady 
with an accent which brought conviction to her 
hearers; but which did not prevent her meanwhile 
from emptying her teacup. 

The hostess looked at her. 

“Miss Garvey, please don’t out on that fierce 
37 


Three Ladies Drink Tea and 


look when you visit the Helerands. You will surely 
spoil your chances.” 

“ Leave them to me, ” replied the little lady. 

And they both gathered up the cups and saucers 
and put them on the table in the comer. 

Meanwhile Miss Rayford, who had been reflecting 
for some time, spoke up. 

“ Here is a scheme that I suggest. Could we not 
invite a number of our prominent ladies — ^fifteen or 
twenty — to meet this day week and get up some sort 
of entertainment, which would bring in a few 
dollars for books and other things ? You know we 
must have shelves and glass doors made. There 
are none in the Young Men’s Clubroom.” 

“Why could not Appleby, the undertaker, give 
these things for his share ? He belongs to the parish, 
doesn’t he.^” asked Miss Garvey, energetically. 

“ Will you see him about it ?” enquired the hostess. 

Certainly I will, and he shall have to give them. 
He has made considerably more than the value of 
a few book-shelves out of us in coffins and trappings 
in the past twenty years.” Miss Garvey was evi- 
dently taking Father Sinclair’s library scheme to 
heart, for she added: “I think Miss Rayford’s sug- 
gestion a good one. While you were in Europe, 
Mrs. Melgrove, the Women’s Art Club held a 
‘Renaissance Tea,’ and in three evenings they paid 
off the debt of their clubrooms.” 

38 


Discuss the Pros and Cons 


“Indeed!” interrupted the hostess. “That ex- 
plains a dainty invitation to their preliminary 
meeting I found waiting me when I returned.” 

“These ladies do everything daintily,” continued 
Miss Garvey. “Their Tea was a perfect success. 
They organized canvassing committees thoroughly 
before they set to work. They then called on the 
different families for the loan of their art treasures. 
One committee solicited paintings and etchings; 
another, plate; another, ivory and bronze curios; 
another, old tapestry; another, rare books and 
manuscripts. Monument Hall was partitioned off 
into sections, each receiving a suggestive name. 
You had the Raffaele section; the Sevres section; 
the Gobelin section, and so on. Tea was served free 
to all. A small admission was taken at the various 
sections; and it would surprise you to see how 
quickly the dollars rolled into the treasury. In 
three short evenings the ladies of the Art Club took 
in nearly a thousand dollars ; the treasures, which 
had been strictly checked, were then sent back to 
their owners, with a note of thanks, and everybody 
was happy.” 

“A novel idea, certainly,” said the hostess; “but 
it would be impossible to get up a benefit for our 
library scheme on the same lines.” 

“Undoubtedly; I merely suggest something sim- 
ilar.” 


39 


Three Ladies Drink Tea and 


“Why not consider the scheme of nations and 
national costumes?” asked Mrs. Melgrove. “One 
of the prettiest sights I saw, during my summer 
abroad, was at Buda-Pesth. The Hungarian peas- 
ants and nobles held some sort of celebration, and 
dressed in the different costumes which had been in 
vogue in their country for a thousand years back. 
The sight was very picturesque and drew crowds 
of people.” 

“That is a charming idea,” said Miss Rayford; 
“ but such schemes require a lot of preliminary study. 
And besides, look at the expense!” 

“I should not think of doing things so elaborately 
as the Hungarians did,” Mrs. Melgrove hastened 
to say. “But would it not be possible to dress our 
young ladies in costumes of a dozen different nations 
for the entertainment? While people sipped their 
tea, they could be kept busy guessing what countries 
were represented. This would at least have the merit 
of novelty in Laurenboro, and it might prove interest- 
ing to many. However, it would be better perhaps 
first of all to carryout your suggestion. Miss Rayford, 
and invite a few ladies to talk the matter over.” 

“Where could we meet?” asked Miss Garvey. 

“Why not here?” answered the hostess. “We 
can easily open the folding-doors of the large parlor 
downstairs; and I think I can furnish chairs for 
fifteen or twenty.” 


40 


Discuss the Pros and Cons 

It was agreed to meet at the Melgroves’ the follow- 
ing Wednesday, and to notify Father Sinclair. The 
hostess saw her two friends to the door, and bade 
them good night; for it had grown dusk. 

A few flakes of snow, harbingers of the coming 
winter, were falling, and a cold night-wind made 
the ladies quicken their steps down the avenue. 

“I did not know that Silas Maglundy belonged 
to our Church, Miss Garvey,” said her companion, 
when they were standing to let a street car pass. 

“ Neither did I till I was told so. I never see him 
at church. He is, I suppose, like many others, a 
merely nominal Catholic.” 

“ Well if he belongs to St. Paul’s, he must be made 
to help us before he gets further away. Father 
Sinclair will have to get after him.” 

“Father Sinclair to my mind is altogether too 
shy,” said Miss Garvey. “If he could execute as 
well as he can plan, he would do marvellous work 
in Laurenboro.” 

“ But he has us to execute his plans. Miss Garvey. 
Here comes the car.” 

“And we’ll just do it, then. That library scheme 
grows on me the more I think of it. I can see all 
the good it will effect; and I am going to do all I 
can for it. This is my blue car. So good night.” 

And the ladies sped off in different directions. 


41 






CHAPTER IV 


The Pastor Takes the Public into His Confidence 

rflHE last leaf had dropped from the maples on 
^ Ashburne Avenue, leaving nothing but the 
tiny branches and the parting season’s birds’ nests. 
A heavy fall of snow had meanwhile thrown a mantle 
of whiteness over the whole city of Laurenboro. 
The nine o’clock Mass the following Sunday morning 
was crowded as usual. The large attendance was 
chiefly due to the fact that the function was over in 
forty minutes. Or, as Mrs. Magillicuddy explained 
it, “ because people wanted to show how stingy they 
could be with Almighty God.” 

After the Gospel, Father Sinclair made the 
announcements for the week. One of them read : 

A meeting of ladies is called for three o’clock, on 
Wednesday, at Mrs. Horace Melgrove’s, Ashburne 
Avenue, to consider the formation of a Catholic 
public library. 

“You may not be aware, brethren,” continued 
the pastor, commenting on the announcement, “of 
the need of a Catholic library in this city. We have 
several public libraries, it is true, but there is not 
43 


The Pastor Takes the Public 


one of them that does not contain works insulting 
to our holy religion, calumniating her clergy, falsi- 
fying her traditions and her history. Are our children 
and young people to be allowed to read such books 
because they are free.^ We must do nothing to 
minimize respect for authority of religious influences 
among us. With us, religion is dearer than life. 
With us, the soul is more precious than the body. 
Now, see the precautions that are taken to keep 
contagion out of our homes. The sick are set apart 
and quarantined; no one is allowed to go near them, 
lest any become infected. And what are all these 
precautions taken for? To preserve these poor 
bodies of ours ; to keep them in life a few years longer. 

“What disease is to the body, error and immoral 
principles are to the soul. Are we going to allow our 
children, and those who are near and dear to us, 
to read books that instil the poison of irreligion and 
immorality into their souls? Public libraries that 
exercise no supervision over the works on their 
shelves are disseminators of immoral contagion, and 
are a menace to a community. We are bound in 
conscience to prevent their books from getting an 
entry into our homes. We lock our doors against 
thieves who would rob us of our treasures, and shall 
we allow books to come into our homes that would 
rob us of our souls ? 

“Seeing that our people must read, I have re- 
44 


Into His Confidence 


solved to establish a library of our own in this parish, 
where sound mental food will be free to all; whither 
parents may let their children go safely; where there 
will be no danger of moral contamination; where we 
may enjoy intellectual pleasure without running the 
risk of undermining our faith. As you are going 
to be the gainers by this work, I appeal to your 
generosity. I have the approbation of the Arch- 
bishop; and His Grace asks me to say in his name 
that he will be gratified to learn that the library is a 
success.” 

The people moved slowly out of church, after 
Mass, and went off in different directions to their 
homes. 

“What’s that new scheme the Father was talking 
to us this mornin’ about?” asked Mrs. O’Connell, 
during her breakfast. 

“ He’s gettin’ up a libr’ry,” answered her husband; 
“and, faith, they want somethin’ badly to take up 
their evenin’s, in place of galavantin’ ’round the 
streets. Just look, Hannah, at that dirty sheet” — 
the Sunday Tribune was lying on the table — ^“who 
fetched that into this house?” 

“Kitty brought it in,” said the mother. 

“Well, there it goes into the fire” — suiting his 
action to his words — ^“and tell Kitty, if she wants 
somethin’ to read ” 

Kitty heard her name and walked in. 

45 


The Pastor Takes the Public 


“ Did you bring that paper into this house, Kitty ? ” 

“Yes, daddy; I got it at the corner after Mass, 
for the pictures and the stories.” 

“ Now, Kitty, let me never see that vile paper here 
again.” 

“But, daddy, what are we going to do.'^ You 
don’t want to let me go to the park with the other 
girls ; and you don’t want to let me go to the Elzevir. 
And you don’t know how long the Sunday is, with 
nothing to read and nowhere to go.” 

“My girl, you’ll have somethin’ to read after 
this. Father Sinclair is goin’ to start a libr’ry; and 
I want you to jine it. D’ye hear ? ” 

“ Yes, daddy, I hear. Of course. I’ll join it. I am 
dying to read nice books, and so are the other girls.” 

O’Connell was an industrious workingman, with 
a few hundreds to his credit in the District Savings 
Bank. In his young days he had striven unsuccess- 
fully for a teacher’s diploma, and he still read a 
great deal in his spare moments. Although his 
grammar and his accent were not without blemish, 
he had wisdom enough to know the influence of 
bad books and newspapers on the impressionable 
years of youth. 

“Kitty, dear, here’s a letter,” said her father, 
after dinner; “take it down to Father Sinclair. 
You’ll find him in the sacristy after Vespers.” 

The pastor was taking off his stole and surplice 


Into His Confidence 


that afternoon when a timid httle girl walked up 
and handed him a letter. 

“Sick-call, Kitty?” 

“No, Father; only a letter from daddy.” 

Father Sinclair opened it and read: — 

Dear Father: I heard your sermon on bad readin’ 
this mornin’ and I am heart and soul with your reverence. 

Use the enclosed twenty-five dollars for the new libry; 
and may God prosper your undertaking. It is badly 
needed in our town. 

Terence O’Connell. 

P. S. — I have some books that have been in a trunk 
for twenty years past. If you want them for the new 
libry, you are welcome to them. 

“ Tell your father, Kitty, that I thank him for his 
gift; and also tell him that I shall be glad to get 
the books.” 

O’Connell’s gift of money and his offer of books 
were in Father Sinclair’s mind an echo of the 
popular sentiment; and with the enthusiasm of one 
who feels that he is on the verge of success in some 
great enterprise, he mentioned his library project to 
half-a-dozen parishioners that day and asked them 
to send to the glebe-house any volumes they might 
no longer need. 

In the half darkness that night, on his way down 
to supper, he stumbled over a heap in the hallway. 

“ What are all these bundles, Nanny ?” he asked the 
housekeeper, a relic of the days of the ship-fever, who 

had faithfully served three of his predecessors in St. 

47 


The Pastor Takes the Public 


Paul’s, and who had reached an age when shrewd- 
ness is at a premium and years are no longer counted. 

“I dunno, your Reverence,” said Nanny; ‘‘they 
do be ringin’ the bell all the afthernoon, and lavin’ 
one parcel afther another. They all say they do be 
books for your schame, your Reverence.” 

But the opening up of the bundles disillusionized 
Father Sinclair, and proved that, notwithstanding 
his other accomplishments, he had not yet learned 
how to stock a public library. There were dozens 
and dozens of volumes in every stage of decomposi- 
tion; some with pages, even whole chapters, missing; 
others, without their covers; nine-tenths of the 
novels were of the lurid order. 

“They will do for kindling the fire,” mused the 
pastor. And he frankly admitted there and then 
that he had not solved Mrs. Melgrove’s third ob- 
jection: “Where are the books to come from.^^” 

“ Who left the bundles, Nanny ?” he asked. 

“O, I dunno, your Reverence. Mrs. Breen’s 
two little girls fetched a parcel, and the widow 
Gallagher came herself, and Katy O’Connell, and 
Molly Miller, and Susie Bernardi, and — dunno — 
a dozen came.” 

There were just a dozen bundles. 

“ Sure I didn’t keep no count of who came and 
who didn’t, your Reverence. The Widow Gallagher 
says why don’t you go afther the rich men for your 
48 


Into His Confidence 


schame. There’s Mr. Maglundy, says she, sure 
isn’t he goin’ to put a drinkin’ fountain for horses 
forninst her house in Blannen Square. And what 
do they be wantin’ with a fountain there for, I’d 
like to know.^” 

“ Take them to the kitchen, Nanny, and store 
them away. I will tell you later what they are for.” 

This was a precautionary measure. It would 
never do to let it get out among the donors that the 
gifts of books were of no earthly use except to light 
fires with. One remark of Nanny’s friend, the 
Widow Gallagher, made Father Sinclair reflect — 
the fountain in Blenheim Square and its donor. 

“Maglundy is turning up pretty often lately/* 
thought the pastor, as he went up to his study to con- 
sult the Directory. “Who is he and where is he 
from ?” 

The music of that euphonious name had never 
sounded in his ears until Miss Garvey uttered it 
at the Melgroves’. The Directory had no such 
word in its thousand pages, which proved that the 
owner thereof was a new arrival in Laurenboro. 
Father Sinclair had read in some review or other 
an article on “Men revealed in their Names,” and 
he set earnestly to work to paint a mind-picture of 
the man who bore the name Maglundy. He was 
elderly; he was a millionaire; he was a Catholic — 

all this Miss Garvey had said, But was he tall or 
49 


The Pastor^s Confidence 


short ? stout or thin ? was he gruff or affable ? 
generous or miserly? vain or retiring? Here was 
food for a half-hour’s speculation in the nhilosophic 
mind of Father Sinclair. 

But the picture was not even sketched. The 
name Maglundy told him nothing. The fact that 
the owner was about to give a drinking-fountain 
to the denizens of Blenheim Square offered no clue 
to his character. So many selfish motives — vanity 
not excluded — may becloud public benefactions that 
the pastor refused to commit himself to a verdict on 
the character of one reputed to be a Catholic mil- 
lionaire. 

“However,” he mused, as he put the Directory 
aside and took up his Breviary for Matins and Lauds, 
“if Silas Maglundy belongs to us, we shall soon 
know more about him.” 


60 


CHAPTER V 


Lay Forces Are Called into Action 

AyTRS. Melgrove’s large drawing-room was ablaze 
with light the following Wednesday after- 
noon. The folding-doors had been thrown open, 
revealing a perfect treasure-house of art. Such 
taste and such delicacy of selection ! In her travels 
through Europe the hostess had picked up many an 
artistic gem in the shape of a miniature, or a cameo, 
or a bronze object of one pattern or another. An 
exquisite reproduction of the Salpion rested on the 
floor. A Sistine Madonna, holding her sorrowfully 
sweet Child, hung from one of the walls where the 
light-effects were favorable; on another, various 
pictures of child-life, mostly the work of German 
artists, and etchings signed by the authors them- 
selves. A Leo XIII by Chartran stood on an easel 
near the folding-doors. The same taste displayed 
itself in the selection of her books — all Catholic and 
standard. The Catholic tone was felt the moment 
the Melgrove threshold was crossed. 

The ladies began to straggle in by twos and threes. 
Miss Garvey had reached the house a few minutes 
ahead; she was helping the hostess to unwrap their 
51 


Lay Forces Are 


furs and to make them feel at home. Already over 
twenty-five had come when three o’clock rang, and 
Father Sinclair entered, recognizing well-known faces 
seated here and there in the large room. 

The pastor of St. Paul’s was one of those priests 
who had cultivated the possibilities of lay coopera- 
tion in his parish. Himself naturally diffident and 
retiring, he had, by means of the zealous helpers 
whom he saw before him at the Melgroves’, done 
much in his small district that would otherwise have 
been left undone. Among these ladies were his 
League Promoters’ Visiting Committee, who went 
to see the poor twice a week during the cold season ; 
his Hospital Committee, who devoted their Wednes- 
days and Saturdays to the sick in the city hospitals; 
his Vigilance Committee, to keep an eye on Uni- 
versity students, many of whom were strangers in 
Laurenboro and disposed to run wild after lecture 
hours; his First Communion Committee among the 
poorer children in Gottingen W ard. The new hbrary 
scheme, he felt confident, would eventually succeed. 

A chair had been provided for him, and a small 
table; and when he sat down, it was in presence of a 
band of workers who, if they so desired, could make 
his new Hbrary scheme, or any other scheme, a 
perfect success — and he knew it. 

“Ladies,” he began, “I had occasion at the 
Masses last Sunday to make you acquainted with a 
52 


Called into Action 


plan suggested to meet a very pressing need. You 
are aware of the efforts that are now being made by 
our friends on Fessenden Avenue to foist a lot of 
denominational literature on us. Besides, I had 
the privilege of looking over the Elzevir catalogue 
a few days ago, and was astounded at the number 
of books there that are on the Index — books that 
Catholics are forbidden to read — Balzac, George 
Sand, the two Dumas ’’ 

A rustling of silk was heard in a corner of the room. 

“Pardon me. Father. Is Dumas on the Index 
asked a young lady graduate of a fashionable 
seminary. 

“ Yes, madam, the works of both father and son.’’ 

“ Well, really — the young lady was going to tell 
that she had read them all, but she simply said, “ I 
did not know they were.” 

“It is a serious matter,” continued the pastor, 
“for a Catholic to read works that are thus pro- 
scribed. One’s conscience becomes involved. I 
shall have occasion later, I trust, to explain the 
seemingly severe rules that govern the decisions of 
the Roman Congregation of the Index; meanwhile 
you will understand, ladies, why I am so anxious 
that something should be done this winter.” 

This speech, short as it was, had a surprising 
effect on some of the ladies present, and told them 

a few things they evidently did not know. 

53 


Lay Forces Arc 


“ Now, if we desire to succeed in doing anything,” 
he went on, “we must organize. We shall need 
officers and committees. If some one will propose 
a name for president ” 

Quick as a flash. Miss Garvey stood up and 
proposed the name of Mrs. Horace Melgrove. 

“ I second the motion, and I have much pleasure 
in doing so,” said Miss Rayford. “Mrs. Melgrove 
has taken deep interest in our works of charity for 
years, and has had experience in library matters. 
This library is also a work that I know appeals to 
her; and for this reason I second Miss Garvey’s 
motion.” 

“ It has been moved and seconded,” added Father 
Sinclair, “that Mrs. Horace Melgrove be made 
president of our library organization. Is there any 
other candidate ? ” 

There was no other candidate; only absolute si- 
lence. 

“Seeing that there is no opposition, I declare 
Mrs. Melgrove elected by acclamation ” 

But the pastor got no further. A general clapping 
of hands bespoke the popularity of the new president. 

“Mrs. Melgrove will take the chair presently,” 
continued Father Sinclair. “She will explain the 
object of our meeting more fully than I have done. 
She will help you to select your other officers and 

name the heads of the committees. I feel that the 
54 


Called into Action 


library interests are advancing rapidly, and I know 
that whatever you decide to do this afternoon will 
be for the best.” 

A murmur of satisfaction swept through the room. 

“ Now, ladies, if you will excuse me, I shall leave 
you to your deliberations” — the priest stood up — 
“if there is anything that I can do to help you out, 
you have only to drop a note, or call at the glebe- 
house.” 

And while the affable pastor was being conducted 
to the door by the hostess, a buzz of conversation 
began to grow in the room. It was a score of ladies 
talking all at once, and about everything but the 
library. 

A moment later Mrs. Melgrove took her place in 
the president’s chair. 

“Before we proceed to the election of the other 
officers,” she began, in a business-hke way, “I 
desire to thank you, ladies, for the mark of con- 
fidence you have placed in me. I will do all in my 
power to retain it. I feel that the work we are about 
to engage in, and which Father Sinclair has evi- 
dently much at heart, is one worthy of our very best 
efforts. As our pastor has already told you, there is 
sad need of a wholesome public library in our city. 
Children in our parish are all readers nowadays, 
and I feel it is our duty to provide them with sound 
reading-matter. Father Sinclair furnishes the hall. 

55 


Lay Forces Arc 


The librarians are easy to get. The books are the 
next thing tc think about. 

“Three of us. Miss Garvey, Miss Rayford, and 
myself, have had several informal talks over the 
affair, and we have thought that some money- 
making scheme, in the course of a week or so, 
should bring in a few hundred dollars, which could 
be invested in books. However, before we proceed 
further, we shall need a secretary, and two or three 
counsellors.” 

The work of election was performed in true 
parliamentary fashion, the secretaryship naturally 
falling to Miss Garvey, she being known as a most 
energetic and intelligent worker in such matters. 

It was now in order to discuss ways and means. 
Several ladies timidly suggested a house-to-house 
collection of books — Father Sinclair’s idea — but 
they were left without a prop by the inexorable 
logic of Miss Rayford. The majority seemed to 
think that an entertainment and fancy sale would be 
the proper thing to have. 

“Then, ladies, let us have the entertainment,” 
said the president. “ What name shall we give it ?” 

“I would suggest Autumn Festival,” said one 
lady. 

“ Or Afternoon Tea,” asserted another. 

“ Or Five O’Clock Social,” ventured a third. 

“ Three excellent suggestions,” rejoined the presi- 
56 


Called into Action 


dent. “ Let us begin with the first. All in favor of 
Autumn Festival as a name for our entertainment 
and fancy sale, will please raise their hands.” 

A fierce gust of wind had sprung up at that 
moment, and the branches tapping against the 
window panes of the large room evidently weighed 
in favor of that name. A cloud of hands, begloved 
but dainty, went into the air, and decided that an 
Autumn Festival was the function that should be 
given in the interests of the new library. 

As those present were quite familiar with the 
details of fancy sales, and as the evening was ad- 
vancing, the rest of the business was quickly dis- 
posed of. One lady offered to look after the candies ; 
another would take charge of the flower-tables; 
another of the ice-cream; another of the tea and 
coffee. Each would choose her own assistants. 
Monument Hall would be secured for that day 
fortnight. The Committee on Printing would get 
the tickets into circulation as soon as possible. 

“I cannot impress on you, ladies,” said the 
president, while the furs were being donned, “how 
important it is to dispose of as many tickets as 
possible. Our success will depend on that. Get 
your friends interested; talk about the Festival, 
and we shall be able to give Father Sinclair a good 
round sum for the library.” 

It was nearly six o’clock when the meeting broke 
57 


Lay Forces Are 


up. The Autumn Festival was started. The en- 
thusiasm that reigned among the ladies predicted 
success. 

The following evening, an anonymous article 
appeared in the local Times on “Reading.” The 
day after, one on the “ Importance of Books on the 
Formation of Character.” The day after that 
again, one on “Controlling the Reading of the 
Young.” Every evening, the library question was 
being discussed, even on the streets, till it threatened 
for the moment to exclude even the coming civic 
elections. 

“ How is the Autumn Festival getting on, Eleanor ? ” 
asked Melgrove of his wife, a few evenings later, 
when he reached his home. “They are doing 
nothing down-town these days but talking library. 
Here is a fourth article on the ‘Need of Wholesome 
Pubhc Libraries.’ I’ll wager it is Father Sinclair 
preparing public opinion for his scheme. He is 
certainly doing his share, and doing it well. There 
is no one on the Times, except Burton, who can 
write like that. Listen, Nell. It reads like New- 
man.” 

And Melgrove began to read out Father Sinclair’s 
clear-cut pure English sentences, logical and forceful. 

“Why, Nell, that prose would bring conviction 
to the most granite-skulled native of Laurenboro. 
Are the tickets printed yet ?” asked Melgrove. 

68 


Cafled into Action 


“Printed and out/* quietly answered his wife. 

“ How many do you want me to take ?” 

“At least a dozen, dear.” 

“Ahem, soriy I asked. But that Father Sinclair 
is a pusher. Here is all Laurenboro reading his 
prose to-night, persuaded that something will happen 
if St. Paul’s doesn’t get a new library. The Elzevir 
people must feel pleased just now.” 

The dinner-bell — the tocsin of the hungry soul — 
rang at that moment, and Melgrove’s reflections 
suddenly took another direction. What logic will 
resist the sound of a dinner-bell ? 




CHAPTER VI 


Human Nature Bobs Up in a Few Ways 

TT was a long, weary day the eve of that First 
Friday in November. Father Sinclair had been 
steadily at work in the confessional since three 
o’clock. It was now seven, and the stream of 
penitents showed no signs of diminishing. Fatigue 
had almost overtaken the pastor as he stepped out 
and asked the people near his box to be patient for 
a short quarter-of-an-hour, while he took his cup 
of coflFee. 

Four letters were awaiting him on the table; but 
he left them unopened. It was near eleven when 
the last form was seen emerging from the confes- 
sional. While the sexton started to put the lights 
out, the tired pastor walked slowly up the aisle. He 
knelt down before the main altar and offered the 
fatigue of the day to the Sacred Heart whose feast 
he would celebrate on the morrow. 

Before retiring for the night he glanced at the 
letters and opened them one by one. 

**Dear Father: Couldn’t the sexton let me have the 
candelabra and a few rose-lamps — a couple of dozen — 
to decorate my flower table ? It would look bare with- 
out them. And I am positively afraid to ask him. 

61 


Human Nature Bobs up 

“Dear Father Sinclair: Would you have the kindness 
to ask the Mayor for the palms from the Civic Nursery, 
to put in the Hall on the night of the Festival ? I sent 
some one to see him yesterday, but he said he could not 
give them without consulting the aldermen. ’ ’ 

“Reverend and Dear Father: Would you let Nanny 
come to help wash things on the night of the Library 
Festival ? Several are going to ask for her, but I think 
I am first. ’ ’ 

“ Dear Reverend Father: Would you have the very 
great kindness to ask the Brazilian Coffee Company to 
donate a few pounds of coffee to the Festival for your 
Library?” 

The pastor put the letters on the table, sat down 
and uttered one long sigh. 

“ Dear Lord!” he exclaimed, “ Non recuso laborem. 
I am willing to work for Thy glory. I am giving 
sixteen or eighteen hours a day to show that I mean 
what I say. But must I now start a-begging for 
palms and coffee? One thing is certain, however, 
— Nanny shall stay at home. As for the rose- 
lamps, they may fight it out with the sexton.” 

He was too tired to undress even, — he had to 
carry Holy Communion to seven sick persons in 
the early morning. After a brief fervent prayer, 
he threw himself on his bed and was soon fast 
asleep. 

The First Friday was radiant. The morning sun 
sent fresh streams of chastened light through the 

long, lancet windows, and lighted up the little 
62 


In a Few Ways 


Gothic church with a softness and grace almost 
heavenly. The King on His throne, surrounded 
with flowers and candles, looked down lovingly on 
the lovers of His Sacred Heart. During the Mass 
sweet music raised the souls of the worshippers 
above the earth; and when the hundreds who 
received Holy Communion lingered after the service 
to commune longer with our Lord, Father Sinclair 
felt that his zeal had not been sterile. “ I will give 
to priests who spread this devotion the gift of touch- 
ing the hardest hearts.” There were not so many 
hard hearts to touch in St. Paul’s Parish; the 
League of the Sacred Heart had done its work ; and 
the tears of tenderness and spiritual joy that flowed 
that morning in St. Paul’s plainly told the pastor 
that the Saviour’s promise to Margaret Mary had 
been fulfilled to the letter. And as a consequence, 
Father Sinclair was happy. 

But there was a weight on him nevertheless. 
How was he to go a-begging for coffee and palms ? 
What were the committees named for ? He had on 
a former occasion put his foot down and told an 
officious vice-president that soliciting for an enter- 
tainment did not come within the scope of his 
duties. The lesson had undoubtedly been forgotten; 
he should have to repeat it. For the moment he 
would compromise; he would buy the coffee and 
send it to the Hall. For this once, also, although 
63 


Htttnan Nature Bobs up 


his shy nature rebelled against such work, he would 
call on Wesley Bruce and ask him for the palms 
that had already been refused. Father Sinclair 
could plan; he could suggest; he could urge; but he 
felt an inmost aversion to going a-begging such 
petty favors. 

At ten o’clock he telephoned to the Brazilian 
Coffee House to send five pounds of its best coffee 
to Monument Hall before five o’clock on Wednesday, 
and charge it to his account. He then took his hat 
and cane and walked down to the post-office. 

The pastor of St. Paul’s was a welcome figure 
down-town. His spirit of progress, his interest in 
civic celebrations, his zeal for promoting public 
works, were well known. It was he who suggested 
the artistic arches over the Brono bridge; it was he 
who headed the subscription list for the massive 
electric columns in Royalview Park; it was mainly 
he who got the City Band to play twice a week in 
the Eagle Rotunda; it was through his efforts that 
Corot’s “Twilight” was now in the Art Gallery; it 
was he who had been working almost alone for two 
years to have a monument raised to the little hero 
who lost his life while trying to save another in the 
Brono: in a word. Father Sinclair was the mouth- 
piece of the “sixth sense” in Laurenboro; for he 
was essentially artistic and a lover of the beautiful. 

But he was preoccupied on his way down-town 
64 


In a Few Ways 


that morning. And still the palms were public 
property. . . . The new library would be a benefit 
to the pubhc. ... It would help to make good citi- 
zens. He ran lightly up the steps of the post-office, 
and was pushing the massive doors inward when 
he stood face to face with the Mayor. 

“ Good morning, Father.” 

“ Good morning, Mr. Bruce.” He was about to 
pass on, when he suddenly turned on his heel. “ By 
the way, Mr. Mayor, could we have the Civic Nur- 
sery palms for an evening this week ? We are getting 
up a little ” 

‘‘ Certainly, Father. Come over to my oflSce.” 

And that was all there was about it. Father 
Sinclair came away with an order to the civic gar- 
dener to let him have the palms “as long as he 
wanted them”; besides, they were to be delivered 
at the hall for him. 

The agony was over. But he asked himself: 

“Is it pride, this shyness, or is it a too delicate 
sense of honor, that makes my life so miserable 

He could solemnly aver that it was not pride. 
He simply could not do such things. Henceforth he 
should see to it that his people did not ask him. 

A call later in the day at the glebe-house from 
Mrs. Melgrove and the secretary told him that the 
tickets were going fast; two hundred dollars had 
already been handed in. 

65 


Htonan Nature Bobs up 


“This is a splendid showing,” said the pastor, 
“and there are still three days.” 

“But several visits we made. Father, were very 
discouraging,” ventured Mrs. Melgrove. 

“And a few snubs into the bargain,” added Miss 
Garvey. “ The Newells told us plainly they wanted 
no new library. They were satisfied with the Elzevir; 
and they would not contribute a cent.” 

“And what did you say?” asked the pastor, 
sympathetically, 

“What could we say? We simply turned on our 
heels and walked away,” replied the little lady. 

“ You did the proper thing, ladies. A little 
humiliation, was it not? And within the Octave 
of the First Friday, too?” 

How well Father Sinclair could preach to others! 
Had he been in their places, and been refused, he 
would have shrunk into his very humble substance. 

“Even though the Newells do not come to the 
festival,” he continued, “they might have taken a 
few tickets — mightn’t they? — to help a good thing 
along.” 

“Certainly they might. Miss Rayford called on 
them,” added Miss Garvey, “for a contribution of 
flowers, and they positively refused her.” 

“Never mind. We have something better. We 
have the palms from the City Gardens,” said the 
Father, bravely. “Monument Hall on festival 
66 


In a Few Ways 


night will look like a corner cut out of Honolulu.” 

“And we called at Mr. Maglundy’s,” added the 
little secretary. 

“Pray tell me how you were received there 

“Very well. He took one ticket. He said he was 
a chronic bachelor, and should not need more than 
one. He is very anxious to meet you, Father. He 
wants your opinion on a fountain he is going to 
build somewhere in town. He also wants an in- 
scription in Latin or Greek.” And the ladies 
laughed heartily. 

“ We shall have to accommodate him, then. This 
may be the thin edge of the wedge to Mr. Maglundy’s 
heart,” retorted the pastor, slowly. An excellent 
occasion of meeting this stranger had thus presented 
itself, and Father Sinclair was gratified at the turn 
events were taking. 

“But the pleasantest visit of all was to the Cay- 
sons,” continued Mrs. Melgrove. “Just fancy! 
They had already taken twelve tickets for the 
Festival before we reached there. And when Miss 
Garvey saw the twelve spread out before her, she 
had not the courage to ask them ” 

“What?” interrupted the pastor, smiling; “to 
buy more tickets ? Isn’t there a stronger term than 
‘courage’ required to ask a family to buy more than 
twelve tickets ?” 

“No matter, Mrs. Cayson was splendid. She 
67 


Htanan Nature Bobs tip 


asked us if we had no tickets to sell, and we both 
burst out laughing. She took four more, and she 
promised a contribution to each of the tables. Her 
two daughters, Clare and Mary, are busy since 
yesterday making candy. And Clare is going to help 
us to sell.** 

“God bless them,** said Father Sinclair; “isn*t 
it consoling to meet such people in this chilly, sel- 
fish world ? But let us go back to Maglundy. Did 
he name any time at which he wanted to see me.^** 
“ He said he would call on you at the glebe-house, 
or he would be in any day after three. If you will 
only telephone, he will send his carriage.** 

“I shall surprise the old gentleman some day 
before the Festival. I should like to see him there. 
So would the ladies, wouldn’t they.^*’ 

“ By all means. Try to get him. Father. We shall 
take care of him, once he reaches the Hall,** said 
Miss Garvey. “But he did not impress me as one 
who would open his purse, even for a library. He 
might have taken more than one ticket.** 

“Seeing that he has money to throw away on 

hving fountains and ** answered Mrs. Melgrove. 

“ And on dead languages,** interjected the pastor, 
sarcastically. 

The two ladies departed, only to admit two more, 
— Miss Pickwell and a friend. 

“I am so glad you got my note. Father. The 
68 


In a Few Ways 


coffee has arrived. I really could not ask that 
horrid manager.” 

Miss Pickwell lived in an elegant mansion on 
Nob Hill, and Father Sinclair was just thinking 
that she might have bought the coffee herself. But 
the lady kept right on: 

“Last year he was so ugly about a small affair. 
Imagine he hinted that I should buy my own dona- 
tion. And I vowed that I would never patronize 
him again.” 

“ That is why you sent me, wasn’t it ? ” asked the 
pastor, smiling. 

“ Well, I knew he could not refuse you. And you 
see he did not. We have just come from Mr. 
Maglundy’s, Father.” 

“I suppose the millionaire simply bought up all 
your tickets,” ventured Father Sinclair. 

“Indeed, no. He told us that he had already 
been supplied. Some one had got in ahead of us.” 

“Is he coming to the Festival ?” asked the priest. 

“ We invited him, but I do not think so. Besides, 
I hardly think we want him.” 

“What, Mr. Maglundy! a millionaire? Do not 
Want him at the Autumn Festival? What do you 
mean. Miss Pickwell ?” asked the pastor, apparently 
surprised. 

“ Oh, I don’t know. Wait until you meet him, 
69 


Human Nature Bobs up 

Father. He wishes to see you to do something for a 
fountain.” 

“Fountain? He must have money to throw 
away.” 

Father Sinclair was fishing for impressions, and 
the reasons of their aversion soon began to come 
out. 

“But, Father, he is so uneducated,” said Miss 
Pickwell. 

“What of that, my child? Want of education is 
not a sin.” 

“But he is so conceited and boorish. Always 
talking about himself and that fountain of his.” 

“He may have had interesting things to say.” 

“ But they were not interesting, were they, 
Madge?” asked Miss Pickwell, turning to her 
companion. “What did he mean by telling us all 
about his Trans-Siberian stocks, and bulls, and 
bears, and everything that we know nothing about ?” 

“ Perhaps he is going to start a menagerie. Should 
you not like to see some Trans-Siberian bulls and 
bears ? ” 

“ Father Sinclair, you are perfectly dreadful. 
When we tell you things, you never listen. All the 
same, thanks for the coffee. Come on, Madge.” 


70 


CHAPTER VII 


A Millionaire with a Hobby 

A/TISS Pickwell would have had some difficulty 
in proving her assertion that Father Sinclair 
never listened. He had been listening, and listening 
attentively to all he heard during the past few days ; 
and, what is more, he had been reflecting on the 
inconsistency of it all. Could this be Christian 
charity? Could it be the charity that the Gospel 
counselled? Here were twenty or thirty members 
of his flock trudging around the city trying to dispose 
of tiny squares of cardboard, at so much apiece, 
which would admit his own parishioners — wealthy, 
a fair proportion of them — ^to Monument Hall, to 
amuse themselves before they would contribute to 
a crying need. 

“ Even when they give an alms for a good work,” 
he mused, “they must first get their money’s worth.” 

Was this Catholic charity? Nay, more, was it 
common justice that the flower of his flock should 
be obliged to go from house to house, or busy them- 
selves at home for days and days, simply to entice 
people to spend a few dollars in aid of a work they 

themselves and their children would profit by ? 

71 


A Millionaire 


“We shall see,” said Father Sinclair, continuing 
to soliloquize, “ that the very people who spend the 
least will be the ones who will have all the fault to 
find with the library and its management later on. 
I know what is coming. Those little ticket-sellers 
of mine and those little candy-makers are heroines. 
They do more for charity’s sake than the rest of 
the parish put together. And the snubs and the 
rebuffs they are getting are simply galling. One 
would think they were working for their personal 
profit.” 

The pastor was walking up and down the balcony 
of the glebe-house. He had his great coat and cap 
on, and his gloves. He was about to make a visit 
to Mr. Maglundy. This new arrival in Laurenboro 
had been brought to his attention so often lately, 
and in such an unfavorable light, that he could hardly 
say he had much confidence in him. 

Small things often give us the key to greater ones. 
That fountain project, which he had heard about 
from different sources, suggested a certain sense of 
civic vanity on the part of Mr. Maglundy; and the 
inscription in a dead language which he desired 
seemed very much like an affectation. These 
qualities in the stranger did not forebode a favorable 
understanding between the two men whose ideals 
were so totally different, and Father Sinclair felt a 

distinct repugnance to call on the millionaire. 

72 


With a Hobby 

Should he find out, when he learned to know him 
better, that this was one of those mortals who try 
to get all the glory they can, at the least possible 
cost to themselves ? Maglundy had wealth, evidently. 
He had now reached the Glory phase. He was go- 
ing to build a monument to himself in Blenheim 
Square. We should soon see him in Politics. Later 
would come the phase of Pleasure-seeking. To 
reach heaven such men would have to compete 
with the camel that could force its way through the 
eye of a needle. 

But all this soliloquizing was verging on unchari- 
tableness. Father Sinclair justified himself by the 
conclusion that he had been thinking only of abstract 
cases. He could truly say that he did not know 
Maglundy. So that all the hard things that had 
passed through his mind about rich 'parvenus in 
general did not necessarily apply to him. 

Half an hour later the pastor walked up the steps 
of the great limestone mansion at the corner of 
Howarth and Buell Streets. A gardener was gather- 
ing the dead leaves into heaps here and there on the 
sward. The long, prettily shaped flower-beds, with 
their wealth of violets and roses, which Father Sin- 
clair had so often admired during the summer 
months, lay bare and wretched. Nature was going 
into decline, and the sight had a depressing effect on 

the aesthetic instincts of the visitor. 

7S 


A Millionaire 


A somewhat slatternly maid, who had quite reached 
the years of discretion, took his card on a very large 
silver tray, and then with a “ This-way-please,’* 
uttered in a voice that attempted to be soft, drew 
the portieres aside and ushered the priest into the 
drawing-room, a realm of luxurious splendor, and 
a sort of wonderland in which the beholder was con- 
fused by the number and variety of curious objects 
gathered in from the world without. 

Father Sinclair felt a sense of the incongruous. 
Was it a drawing-room or a museum ? His instinct 
told him, however — ^had he not already known it — 
that Mr. Maglundy was a bachelor, and that prob- 
ably the woman who took his card was to blame. 

A rather strange spectacle was presented by the 
ingenious display of a genuine pick and shovel and 
a miner’s pan — the heraldry of the mining world 
— resting against the mantlepiece. The owner of the 
house was evidently proud of these implements. 
There were cabinets along the walls filled with gim- 
cracks of every description and California curios. 
A few books on mineralogy lay covered with dust 
on the center table. From the ceiling hung a huge 
Japanese umbrella, on which dust and cobwebs had 
gathered notably, relics no less of shiftless manage- 
ment than of a so j ourn in the W est . There were other 
signs of neglected wonders which by their peculiar 
position indicated that Maglundy was at the mercy 
74 


With a Hobby 


of a housekeeper who had not the same respect 
for them as must have animated the original lord 
of these things. The priest sympathized with him, 
and was just instituting a comparison between the 
guardian spirit of this household and his own good- 
natured but not very tidy Nanny, when a quick, 
jerky step was heard coming down the stair. The 
portieres were drawn aside and revealed Silas 
Maglundy himself, a little smiling lump of a man, 
not more than five feet four inches high, corpulent, 
with bald head and ruddy face, sympathetic blue 
eyes, prominent nose, and a tuft of whisker under 
each ear. 

“How do you do, Fawther?” he lisped. Mr. 
Maglundy’s grammar was above reproach, but all 
his “a’s” were “aw’s,” and all his minnows, whales, 
as the pastor soon discovered. — I am delighted to 
meet you. Have been anxious to meet your Reverence 
for some time.” 

He pressed the visitor’s hand with a grasp that 
betokened genuine cordiality. Pointing to a chair, 
and falling into one himself, he proceeded : 

“ I am a Cawtholic, you know.” 

“I had heard so,” replied Father Sinclair, de- 
murely, “ and I am very well pleased to meet you ; 
indeed I had hoped to have that pleasure before this.” 

“My fault, sir, that you did not; although I have 

been in Laurenboro little over a month. Quite a 
75 


A Millionaire 


beautiful place this city of yours. Was quite a 
revelation to me. Think I shall reside here perma- 
nently in future. I hope in fact to do something in 
my own small way to improve conditions here.” 

“The fountain will soon be out,” thought Father 
Sinclair, who felt a growing desire to laugh at the 
sight of such petty vanity. But he concealed his 
sentiments. The first glimpse the old man had 
given the priest of himself was that of Maglundy 
smiling. The impression was favorable and was 
destined to remain with him. 

“Your name is Saint Clair, Fawther. I used to 
know a family out in California of that name — the 
Saint Clairs, well-to-do ” 

“They may be distant relatives of mine,” replied 
the pastor, blandly. “Ours was a large family.” 

“Indeed; and drifted apart in after years, I 
suppose .^” 

“Yes,” said Father Sinclair, “we are all well 
dispersed now. But it took ages. We are descend- 
ants of the navigator who sailed in his own ship and 
got stranded on Ararat.” 

“How sad,” exclaimed Maglundy, sympathetic- 
ally. “What a calamity! Accidents will happen. 
Was everything lost ?” 

“No; the family was saved; and the live stock.” 

“ I am so glad to hear that. How consoling ! ” 

The pastor felt that he had carried his facetious- 
76 


With a Hobby 


ness far enough and he quickly changed the 
uninteresting topic. 

“ So you are going to stay with us, Mr. Maglundy 
he asked. 

“I think so, Fawther. My interests are centred 
in Laurenboro for some time to come. You know 
I have been engaged in mining for some years in 
California, and had a half -ownership in a quartz 
claim out there. Do you smoke, Fawther ?” 

“ Occasionally.” 

‘‘ Well, just come upstairs. I want to have a talk 
with you. And besides, I want to let you into a 
little secret of mine, and get your advice.” 

“ The fountain, to a certainty,” thought the pastor, 
as he followed the stout little man upstairs. 

The smoking-room was a cosy spot. A few 
delightfully fashioned easy chairs looked very 
inviting. Photos of California mining-camps almost 
covered the four walls. 

After they had lighted their cigars, Maglundy 
continued : 

“Yes, I had a half-interest in a claim out there. 
One day I struck a pocket — or ‘blow-out’, as we 
miners call it — and I saw what I had. I bought the 
other half-interest and developed the mine myself, 
which proved a tremendous payer. Naturally I 
drifted from mines to stocks, and manipulated 
successfully in Trans-Siberian. And here I am, 
77 


A Millionaire 


as you see, a success in life — made my pile, as my 
old friends the miners say.” 

And Maglundy settled down into his leathern 
chair with evident satisfaction. 

“What became of your partner asked Father 
Sinclair. 

“I don’t really know; his future didn’t worry 
me. Why should it ?” 

“I really do not know why it should not,” re- 
joined the priest. “You say he was your partner — 
and I fancy he must have naturally been interested 
in your discovery.” 

“ Oh yes, I understand. That was years ago, 
but I lost sight of him long since. I think he is 
somewhere in the West still. But that does not 
worry me. I purpose doing something for my 
fellow beings. Some one of your learned men has 
said, I think, that a private good must give way to 
the public weal.” 

“Yes, certainly, private interests must yield at 
times to the public weal, provided justice is not 
involved.” 

“No doubt you are right; but of course the law 
takes care of that, and we need not go out of our 
way to be just where everyone can claim his own in 
the courts.” 

The old miner evidently did not care to discuss 
the subject from the ethical point of view; he was 
78 


With a Hobby 


in a philanthropical mood, and was anxious to 
broach the favorite subject of the fountain. How 
true it is that when a man has a hobby he makes 
the rest of the w^orld suffer. The irrepressible topic 
is served up on all occasions, and with every kind of 
sauce. Not, of course, that he wishes to tire his 
victims, or give them indigestion. It is only because 
the hobby controls him and he himself has become 
its victim. Apparently, Maglundy had reached this 
stage; the pastor’s keen mind had divined it clearly 
enough. 

“I want to let you into a little secret of mine. I 
may as well tell you that I intend to present a 
drinking-fountain to the citizens of Laurenboro, 
for the use of man and beast. And here is the 
design I have had prepared.” 

The old man pulled out of a pigeon-hole a well- 
thumbed document which he unfolded and put 
before the amazed eyes of Father Sinclair. There 
was a clearly drawn pen-and-ink sketch of a cow 
lying on the top of a hillock in a pool of water. 

“ The idea is original, isn’t it 

“It certainly is,” exclaimed the priest. 

“ And I think it will be welcome to the citizens of 
Laurenboro. You see, I have always had a great 
love for dumb animals; they are so useful to man. 
But I think their place is not properly estimated in 

the domain of art. We have tigers and lions and 
79 


A Millionaire 


horses to represent animals in monuments; but no 
one has ever introduced the cow to express the 
nobility of useful service. Yet this animal provides 
us with food and drink and clothing. 

‘‘Is there anything on this green earth more 
attractive than a field of cows, or more grateful 
and nourishing than a glass of fresh milk ^ What 
poet was it who sang 

‘The lowing cows come walking o’er the fields’?” 

“Homer, possibly!” quickly answered Father 
Sinclair, half thinldng that the old man might be 
doting. 

“ I can almost see those gentle glassy eyes,” con- 
tinued the millionaire, “and hear the swish of the 
tail. Out in California we once had ” 

But the visitor was waxing fidgety. He handed 
back the roll to the owner, and was preparing to 
leave. 

“ The design for the work is almost completed, as 
you see it there; but I should be pleased if you would 
make some suggestion, Fawther, as to details.” 

Father Sinclair reflected a moment. 

“ Are you really in earnest about this matter, Mr. 
Maglundy,” said he, with a humorous air. “I 
should say you would need a shed for the cow; it 
is hardly fair to keep her outside in all kinds of 
weather. The winter is coming on.” 

80 


With a Hobby 


“Why surely I am in earnest, Fawther,” said 
the millionaire; “but of course the cow will be of 
bronze.” 

“Why not put a canopy over her — ^to keep the 
rain off.^” 

“But how could that be done? It would alte" 
the design.” 

“ And besides,” continued the pastor, not minding 
the interruption, “she will be lonesome. Why not 
add a calf or two ?” 

“ That would add materially to the expense, 
Fawther; extra piping, and so on,” said Maglundy, 
not seeming to realize the ridiculous element in the 
criticism of a project which he had fondly cherished 
until it had absorbed all his sense of the ludicrous. 

“I admit it would cost something more. But 
then your fountain would serve a double purpose.” 

“Indeed! How so?” Maglundy ’s eyes were 
flashing in wonderment. 

“It would be a monument to the donor, and an 
emblem of motherly affection.” 

“ Affection ? ” exclaimed the millionaire. 

“Why yes. I mean bovine maternal affection.” 

Maglundy stared; but it was the stare of vacuity. 
The old man thought he understood. 

“ Down goes the calf, Fawther.” 

And taking pen and paper, he wrote : “ One or two 

calves; affection, shelter, extra piping.” 

81 


A Millionaire 


“ But this must be your own idea, Mr. Maglundy, 
— ^not mine. Do you hear.^^” 

Father Sinclair had not expected so complete and 
ready an acquiescence to his suggestion; and became 
alarmed lest, in his earnestness to carry out the 
monumental idea, Mr. Maglundy might quote him 
as authority for the alterations in the design. 

“O yes, Fawther; I will take care of that. I am 
glad I consulted you before I gave out the contract.” 

The old man folded the document again and 
carefully laid it away. 

“ Now, Favi;her, I am anxious to have an inscrip- 
tion put on the fountain. I have passed many an 
hour thinking what it might be. Anything in 
English would be too common to put on a bronze 
tablet — don’t you think so? What should you 
suggest 

“I really do not know,” replied Father Sinclair. 
‘‘Do you want one in German, or French, or some 
other modern language .^” 

“That is just what I do not want. I have read, 
and you of course know, that living languages 
change in course of time, and that dead languages 
don’t. I should like a language on the slab that 
would never change. It ought always to be able to 
tell who gave the fountain to Laurenboro.” 

“How would Greek or Latin do?” asked the 
pastor. 


With a Hobby 

“They are dead languages — are they? — ^and not 
likely to change?” 

“ Dead as a door-nail,” echoed the priest. 

“I think I should prefer Greek, then,” ventured 
the old man. 

He handed Father Sinclair a tablet and pen, and 
the priest, with a somewhat quizzical smile, wrote: 

SI A AS MAFATNAIOS 
ME AEAQKE 

Maglundy seized the paper and looked at it. It 
was clear that the old miner’s classics had been 
neglected, for he turned suddenly to his visitor and 
exclaimed: “What is this, Fawther?” 

“The Greek inscription for your fountain.” 

Maglundy examined it carefully, turned it about 
in various ways, and said, somewhat dejectedly: 
“I don’t know Greek, Fawther, and shouldn’t be 
able to say which is top or bottom; but tell me what 
it means. I am afraid most people would be as much 
puzzled as myself, and no one could ever tell who 
gave the fountain to Laurenboro. What is the 
English for that ?” 

The pastor pointed out the Greek words, and read 
Silas Maglundy donated me. 

“ Of course, it is the cow which is supposed to be 
speaking,” he added, with a little vicious smile; for 
the outlines of a comedy worthy of Moliere began 

to grow up before him with lightning rapidity. 

83 


A Millionaire 


“The idea is there, Fawther; but 1 don’t think I 
should like that. The words cannot be read. Why, 
I cannot make out my own name. How would it 
be in Latin?” 

The priest took the tablet again and wrote: 

SILAS - MAGLVNDIVS -ME 
DONAVIT 

“This looks more like our own English, doesn’t 
it? Indeed, I can recognize my own name. But 
that ivs at the end — what is it there for ?” 

“ It gives the word Maglundy a classical touch.” 

“ Do the other words mean the same as the Greek ?” 

“ The very same thing,” answered the pastor. 

Maglundy pondered, gazing intently meanwhile 
at the tablet. 

“ I do not like that word me so close to my name. 
Ignorant people in Laurenboro might suppose the 
cow was calling herself Maglundy,” said the old 
man, laughing. 

“I can give you another phrase which renders 
the same sentiment,” suggested the pastor. 

“If you please.” 

Father Sinclair took the tablet a third time and 
wrote : 

DONVM - SILAE - MAGLVNDII 

“What does this mean?” asked the old man. 

“ The Gift of Silas Maglundy,'' answered the 
pastor. 


84 


With a Hobby 


“Those too ii’s at the end of my name do not 
look well. Could they not be changed so as to 
leave the name straight, plain, humble Maglundy 
which everybody would recognize at sight 

“Not easily, sir. Latin is a dead language. I 
think you had better stand by this one.” said Father 
Sinclair, pertly. He was tiring of the comedy. 

“Very well, Fawther, I will.” 

The pastor rose to go. 

“Tell me, Mr. Maglundy, do you really mean to 
have that design carried out, and to set that cow up 
in Blenheim Square?” 

“ Undoubtedly I do. Transferring a gentle brute 
of the fields to Blenheim Square; the idea is poetic 
is it not ?” 

“And decidedly bucolic,” answered Father Sin- 
clair, wearily, putting out his hand to him. “ I fear I 
must be off, Mr. Maglundy. By the way, we are going 
to have a Festival in Monument Hall, next week, 
in aid of a Free Library I should wish to establish 
for our people. I think that you might help us in 
the good work, seeing that God has given you a 
large share of this world’s wealth. You are laboring 
at this moment to be useful to our citizens in afford- 
ing them, by the erection of a fountain, an oppor- 
tunity of quenching the thirst of their bodies. The 
ladies of my parish are working hard these days to 
slake a thirst in souls. A good library is a fountain 
85 


A Millionaire 


of living waters, and we are without one. Will you 
be with us at Monument Hall on Wednesday next ?” 

“ I fear I may be engaged with my contractors on 
that night. However, I will do my best to get there.” 

Father Sinclair slipped downstairs, donned his 
coat and cap, and passed into the street, thankful 
to be out of the domain of what he considered at 
that moment the greatest bore of the century. 

“ We shall not see Maglundy at the Festival, that’s 
certain,” he mused, as he turned homewards; 
“that fountain for the citizens of Laurenboro is 
simply to be a monument to himself; and the Lord 
forgive me, but it will be most appropriate.” 

Only one thing tormented him. If that good- 
natured but vain old man should dare tell any one 
that it was the pastor of St. Paul’s who suggested 
the addition of the calf, it would be all over with 
him. He consoled himself, however, by the reflec- 
tion : “ Most likely Maglundy will take all the glory 
of the design to liimself; and he is welcome to it.” 

It was almost dark when he reached the glebe- 
house, tired of his useless errand. The impression 
left upon him was that his new parishioner, though 
shrewd enough in certain ways that had helped him 
to his wealth, was a mixture of ignorance and 
vanity in equal parts. 

“ From ignorance our comfort flows. 

The only wretched are the wise.” 

86 


With a Hobby 


Yet that was not all; there was something more 
in the man which had not escaped Father Sinclair’s 
notice, despite his irritation at the ex-miner’s vulgar 
eagerness for self-advertisement. The sympathetic 
blue eyes, and frankness and simplicity of manner, 
bespoke something nobler in Mr. Maglundy’s heart 
than what appeared on the surface; the pastor felt 
that the time might soon come when this better 
element would assert itself. 

Mrs. Melgrove had been waiting for nearly an 
hour. 

“Three hundred dollars are already in. Father,” 
she said; “but the orchestra, which promised its 
services, now wants to be paid.” 

“Well, I suppose we shall have to pay for the 
whistle.” 

“ And a bill has come in for the ice-cream which 
was accepted as a donation the other day at the 
meeting.” 

“ Let us foot the bill out of the receipts. We shall 
have that many books the less,” added the oastor, 
resignedly. 

“Are not some people queer?” asked the presi- 
dent. 

“Some people are queer, Mrs. Melgrove,” an- 
swered the pastor, philosophically. 

“However,” added the energetic lady, “we must 
not complain too much. Mrs. Molvey has sent us 
87 


A Millionaire 


her large lamp and some chandeliers for the tables ; 
and she has promised to work in the Hall. Miss 
Gye has promised to sing, and Mr. Trebble will 
play her accompaniment. And there are ever so 
many other things that I wanted to tell you — Oh, yes ; 
the ladies are anxious to see Mr. Maglundy at the 
Festival.’’ 

“ I have just come from his house, and I fear the 
ladies will be disappointed. The old gentleman has 
other things on his mind at present.” 

“I am so sorry. Miss Garvey was going to take 
charge of him,” said Mrs. Melgrove, laughing. 
“Do you know. Father, he is a very wealthy man. 
My husband tells me he owns one of the richest 
gold mines in the West, and that he nearly created 
a panic in Trans-Siberian stocks, on Wall Street, a 
few months ago. Could you imagine such a thing ? ” 

“ I certainly could not,” replied the priest. “ But 
let us suppose Mr. Maglundy has developed along 
financial lines; that will explain his limitations in 
other directions. At all events, I do not think we 
shall see him at the Festival. I shall sympathize 
with him if he reaches there, and Miss Garvey sets 
eyes on him. What are the prospects for Wednes- 
day.?” 

“Very good. I have hopes that we may clear 
five or six hundred. We have some excellent 
workers in this parish, earnest and zealous. Our 
88 


With a Hobby 


little ticket-sellers and candy-makers deserve all 
praise. They have worked hard during the past 
fortnight. Their booths are simply fairy dells; and 
I should be sorry if they were disappointed.” 

“ Did the palms arrive ?” asked the pastor. 

“The palms are in the Hall, and they give quite 
an Oriental aspect to the whole scene. However, 
we shall see you on Wednesday, Father,” said Mrs. 
Melgrove, rising. 

Father Sinclair opened the door and added : 
“Tell Miss Garvey that if the millionaire does not 
appear at the Festival, there are the ‘inseparables’ 
to take his place — Gray the Bachelor and his 
friend Tompkins. They are both wealthy, and they 
are sure to be there.” 


89 



I 


CHAPTER VIII 


The Festival in Monument Hall 

ly^ONUMENT HALL was a wilderness of palms, 
flowers, lights, decorations, all artistically 
blended. The booths were what the president had 
called them — fairy dells; every one filled with good 
things and carefully guarded by dozens of St. Paul’s 
vivacious and prettily gowned lay-helpers. 

Shortly after seven o’clock the ticket-holders 
began to arrive; in less than an hour the spacious 
room was filled with citizens of all denominations. 
Of course, the greater number were Father Sinclair’s 
own parishioners. But there was a blending of 
the masses and the classes that evening which 
recalled the Church to which most of them belonged. 

The orchestra was playing selections from Ber- 
lioz, when the pastor entered. He moved through 
the miscellaneous throng with a bright smile and a 
pleasant word of recognition for all. The new 
library was naturally the topic of the evening; and 
many were the good wishes for its success which 
were expressed within Father Sinclair’s hearing. 

Meanwhile the booths were becoming the center 
of attraction. The candy-sellers had theirs close 
91 


The Festival 


to the wall arranged in the form of a V. The table 
was decorated in blue and gray — no one knew why, 
unless it was because the lady in charge had come 
originally from Virginia. Immeasurable quantities 
of chocolate and cream candy were temptingly dis- 
played in layers, and stores of the same delicious 
articles were within reach of the assistants, who 
were ready to dole out the dainty boxes and take 
in the cash. 

The flower booth was in the opposite corner. 
Chrysanthemums and roses, velvet pansies and 
ferns, were spread out in the most artistic manner; 
and a dozen rose-lamps, scattered here and there 
among them, shed a mellow radiance that gave to 
the whole a positively fairy-like appearance. The 
presence of the rose-lamps told the pastor plainly 
that his old sexton had not been able to resist the 
pressure. On a massive pedestal, in the center of 
the Hall, the Honolulu palms from the City Gardens 
heaved up and down as though moved by their 
native zephyrs. Flower-bearers, candy-sellers, Dolly 
Vardens and Marguerites glided hither and thither 
with boutonnieres for sale, and fancy boxes, guessing- 
bottles, and fortune tickets. 

“Mr. Gray!’’ 

Gray turned pale at the mention of his name. 

“Mr. Gray,” said Clare Cayson, “will you please 
guess how many beans there are in this bottle? 

92 


In Monument Hall 


There is the loveliest pin just waiting for you if 
you guess the right number.” 

“ Bless your ’eart, Miss,” gasped Gray, *T m not 
a Yankee, Miss. I’m from Lunnun-on-the-Tems.” 

“Well, just give me a number, and then I want 
twenty-five cents for the privilege of your guess.” 

“But I protest. Miss; I really am not a Yankee. 
Never guessed in my life. Don’t know ’ow it is done. 
But ’ere is twenty-five cents, provided you leave me 
alone, and make my friend, Mr. Tompkins ’ere, 
guess.” 

“Mr. Tompkins, won’t you guess asked Clare. 

“ Every time. Miss. I’m from Bosting. ’Leventy- 
’leven hundred and one.” 

“Won’t you please put that number down, and 
then give me twenty-five cents 

Tompkins found it harder than he thought to get 
figures for his number. But the operation cost him 
only a quarter of a dollar. 

Gray was congratulating himself on his narrow 
escape, when a gentle voice suddenly fell on his ear: 

“Don’t you want your fortune told, Mr. Gray.^” 
This time it was Miss Garvey who spoke. 

“ Look ’ere. Miss, I’m a confirmed bachelah, and 
you ’ave uttahly no chawnce. Try my friend 
Tompkins ’ere. ’E is a bachelah, but not a confirmed 
one.” 

“ I’ll see Mr. Tompkins later. If you are a 
9S 


The Festival 


bachelor, Mr. Gray, you can afford twenty-five cents 
for the new library.” And she got it. 

“Now it’s Mr. Tompkins’ turn.^’ 

Tompkins looked at his friend in despair. 

“ Say, Gray, this beats an Arizona hold-up. Let’s 
get out of here, or we’ll go stranded.” 

“No, Miss, this friend of mine ’ere, Tompkins, 
’as plenty of money in ’is pockets; and so go and get 
the othah ladies. I’ll ’old ’im till you come back.” 

But Gray made Tompkins bolt as soon as Miss 
Garvey had left; and he bolted, too, when he saw her 
returning. Neither of them could be found. 

During this little episode Miss Gye sang from 
Aida, and responded to an encore by rendering the 
Gipsy Solo from II Trovatore. 

The word had been passed round among the 
ladies what was to be done if Silas Maglundy ap- 
peared; Miss Garvey, who knew him by sight, was 
told off to keep her eyes on the door. 

But a note was handed to Father Sinclair instead, 
which dashed all hopes to the ground. It read as 
follows : 

“The Reverend Father Sinclair will please excuse Mr. 
Maglundy’s absence. He will be occupied all the 
evening with his contractors; with whom he is to discuss 
the proposed addition of the calf and the extras to the 
city fountain. Mr. Maglundy begs to inform Father 
Sinclair that he has changed the inscription a bit.” 

“Changed the inscription a bit! Evidently the 
94 


In Monument Hall 


work of some wag,” mused the pastor, thrusting the 
note into his pocket. “Just do as you please, Mr. 
Maglundy, provided you keep that calf episode to 
yourself.” 

The fortune-tents were doing a thriving business. 
Miss Brownlese, dressed as a gipsy, was in one 
corner of the room, and Miss Seddon in the other. 

Tompkins and Gray had quietly edged up to the 
latter’s tent. Tompkins sneaked in and came out 
after five minutes, twenty-five cents poorer. 

Gray was waiting for him. 

“Strange how some people like to be fooled,” 
said Tompkins, putting his hand over his bald head; 
“and the old fools are the worst.” 

“What did she tell you.^” asked Gray. 

But Tompkins and Gray got no farther. Miss 
Garvey and half a dozen Marguerites had surrounded 
them with boutonnieres for sale. 

Tompkins looked at Gray, and Gray looked at 
Tompkins. Both were in the agony of despair. 
This time they could not escape. 

“Have you got any more money, gentlemen.?” 
asked Miss Garvey. 

“All gone,” vociferated Tompkins. 

“All gone,” echoed Gray, only louder. 

“Well, we are looking for an auctioneer; and I 
hear, Mr. Gray, that you are excellent at that.” 

“I a hauctioneer, Miss!” exclaimed Gray. 

95 


The Festival 


“Whafs that? ’Ow do you spell it? It must be 
my friend, Mr. Tompkins, you are aftah.” 

“No, sir; it is you we are after,” insisted Miss 
Garvey. 

“ Ton my ’onah. Miss, I’m willin’ to wager tup- 
pence that it’s Mr. Tompkins you ’ah aftah.” 

It was Tompkins; for before the latter could 
escape, a dozen University students seized him and 
hoisted him on to one of the tables. 

With the best possible grace, Tompkins, on whom 
all eyes in the hall were turned, entered into the 
spirit of the scene. He drew himself up and began: 

“ Ladies and gentlemen, this occasion is a memor- 
able one. I regret that you have not seen fit to 
choose some one who could fill the position better 
than I, and do credit to himself and this honorable 
assembly.” 

“Question, question,” came from a dozen quar- 
ters at once. 

“The question at issue, ladies and gentlemen, is 
this. I have seized its importance. The question 
at issue is to dispose of as much candy as possible, 
and of as many flowers as possible, for the greatest 
possible amount of cash. Is not that the question at 
issue at this solemn moment?” 

“ That is the question,” echoed the dozen voices. 

“Well, let us begin. Here is a splendid box, all 
done up in colors, and brimful of delicious choco- 
96 


In Monument Hall 


lates. What am I offered? Look at the ribbons, 
ladies, the blue and the gray, mingling 

“Tompkins must be a Southerner,” whispered 
Miss Garvey to Clare Cayson. 

“ ^their variegated tints — recalling the heroic 

years — ^what am I offered?” 

“But he is!” insisted Miss Garvey; “and he told 
us he was from Boston.” 

“Recalling the years of the great civil struggle — 
what am I offered?” 

“ Five cents,” came a voice from the rear. 

“Five cents I am offered for a two-dollar box of 
chocolates — Chattamauga brand — five cents! Are 
you not ashamed of yourself, sir?” 

“ Ten cents,” ventured a voice. 

“ Fifteen,” shouted another. 

“Two bits,” vociferated a Westerner. 

“Ten and fifteen and twenty-five make fifty 
cents. Fifty offered — agoing, going — ” 

“One dollar.” 

“One dollar for a two-dollar box of candy, done 
up in blue and gray, recalling the events of forty 
years ago when you and I were young.” He looked 
at Miss Garvey. “The two colors peacefully en- 
twining a two-dollar box of chocolates. Half its 
value — agoing ^gone ! ” 

Tompkins kept this clatter up for nearly an hour, 

and disposed of all the flowers and candy; even the 
97 


The Festival 


chrysanthemums which, he declared, had come 
direct from Japanese gardens for the occasion. 

“Wasn’t he a success exclaimed Miss Garvey 
to Clare. “ But he needn’t have looked at me when 
he mentioned that horrid Civil War. People might 
really guess my age. I know they are trying hard.” 

This was a delicate point with the little lady; but 
she went over to congratulate Tompkins who had 
joined his friend. 

“What did I tell you.^” asked Gray. “And you 
wanted to get me up there ?” 

Every one voted Tompkins a success as an 
auctioneer. The University students were about 
to show their appreciation after their own peculiar 
methods, when Gray rescued his friend, and both 
escaped through the door. 

The auctioning off was the last item on the pro- 
gramme of the evening. The orchestra played the 
National Anthem, which was listened to in respectful 
silence. The visitors then slowly dispersed; the 
lights were lowered; the Autumn Festival became 
a matter of history. 


98 


CHAPTER IX 


Unrest in the Camp of the Enemy 

rilHE excitement and fatigues of the past couple 
of weeks had told on the organizers. It was 
two days before Mrs. Melgrove or any of her lieu- 
tenants appeared at the glebe-house. 

“Well, Madame la Presidente/* asked Father 
Sinclair, smiling, “what is the condition of the 
treasury 

“Six hundred dollars. Father, and several ticket- 
sellers still to be heard from.” 

“ That is splendid. It means at least four hundred 
books to begin with, does it not ?” 

‘ ‘ It should have been more. But the expenses were 
higher than we bargained for. We had to buy some 
of the flowers and the ribbon for the candy boxes.” 

“No matter,” said the pastor, encouragingly; 
“that is a splendid result. And at your final meeting 
on Wednesday, will you not thank everybody 
concerned .^” 

The energetic president departed, conscious of 
a good work done; and the pastor put the money 
away in the safe. 

But Father Sinclair could not get it out of his 
mind that six hundred dollars was a small sum with 
99 


LOFC, 


Unrest in the 


which to begin a free public library. If men like 
Mr. Maglundy — and there were dozens of them in 
Laurenboro — could find several thousand dollars 
to put up drinking-fountains, which nobody wanted, 
they could easily contribute a few; hundred for a 
vastly more important work. And Maglundy had 
given just one half-dollar — he had bought a ticket. 
The Newells had not contributed anything. 

How could he approach these wealthy men and 
lay the affair before them.^ This was the problem 
that was worrying him. Might they not be urged 
to contribute, according to their means, to the work 
of God’s Church for the welfare of souls, and the 
care of the poor ? But that was a subject for further 
consideration. The work in hand was to begin the 
library as soon as possible. 

The day after the Festival, a squib appeared in 
the Times, 

“The Directors of the Elzevir learn with regret that 
there is question of establishing a new library in this 
city. In view of the efforts they are constantly putting 
forth to meet the desires of all classes, the Directors 
consider it untimely — unfair, in fact — to neutralize the 
good the Elzevir Library is destined to do in Laurenboro.” 

Father Sinclair smiled. 

“This is excellent,” he mused. “The shoe is 
pinching somewhere. A bait thrown out to see who 
will be caught. We can wait.” 

100 


Camp of the Enemy 


He did not have long to wait. In the very next 
issue, a note appeared in the Times. 

“ To the Editor : — 

“Lest there should be any misunderstanding in 
certain quarters, I desire to say that I have nothing 
whatever to do with the movement on foot to establish 
a library in opposition to the Elzevir. I believe in cen- 
tralization. 

R. Kenneth Newell.” 


“The insufferable audacity,” thought Father 
Sinclair, “ and the officiousness.” 

He laid down the paper when the telephone rang. 
It was the voice of Melgrove. 

“Did you see to-night’s paper Melgrove asked. 

“I did,” answered the pastor, “and hasn’t our 
friend Newell given us a hideous example of spine- 
lessness.” 

“ That thing should not be allowed to rest there,” 
persisted Melgrove. “ We must teach those Newells 
a lesson. I’ll drop a note to Burton myself.” 

“What good will that do.'^” asked Father Sinclair. 

“At least it will show Kenneth Newell and his 
likes that they do not represent Catholic sentiment 
in this section. That’s all.” 

“Nobody that I know ever thought they did,” 
replied the pastor, “ and a note from you now would 
only embitter Newell and make things worse. 
Could you come over to the glebe-house to-morrow 
evening ?” 


101 


Unrest in the 


“I will be with you at seven; will that suit?” 
And the ’phone rang off. 

The whole of the next day was taken up by 
Father Sinclair’s lieutenants in gathering in the 
ticket money and settling accounts. The total 
receipts from the Autumn Festival were $625.25, 
clear of all expenses, and a dozen tickets unac- 
counted for. The pastor of St. Paul’s sent a note 
which was to be read at the final meeting of the 
organizers. It thanked Mrs. Melgrove and the 
ladies for their devotedness and their labor, and 
congratulated them on their success. But he was 
careful to add that the work was only just begun, 
and that he should call on them again when the 
book catalogues had arrived from the publishers. 

At seven, Nanny ushered Horace Melgrove into 
the cosy study. Nowhere was that excellent man 
more at home than with Father Sinclair in the 
glebe-house. The two had been students together 
at St. Anselm’s, and though they had drifted in 
different directions in after-life, it was one of the 
pastor’s very great consolations, when he moved 
into Laurenboro, to see his old friend Melgrove 
settled there in good circumstances. He had worked 
himself up to the general managership of one of 
the great insurance companies of the metropolis. 

Horace Melgrove was a Catholic, pure and simple, 
and he was fearless in the expression of his principles. 

102 


Camp of the Enemy 


In fact, he was thought sometimes to be a little 
too hasty in putting them forward. Catholicism 
was so deeply rooted in him that he could see things 
only as the Church saw them, even in matters of 
business. Justice for him, for instance, was some- 
thing more than a mere term of law. In religion, 
his unflinching attitude had sometimes given offence 
to those who could not always see things from his 
ultra-Catholic point of view. With Protestants he 
was considered a bigot; with weak-kneed Catholics, 
like Newell, he was over-zealous. But Melgrove 
was neither; he was simply a practical member of 
his Church. Half a dozen like him would leaven 
any parish. 

After the cigars had been lighted, and the topics 
of the day discussed, the Newell episode was dis- 
posed of. Business considerations, Melgrove had 
learned, were at the bottom of Newell’s grovelling 
note to the Times, When a man tries to keep 
friendly with the hare and the hunter, he has many 
a humiliating leap to make, many a prickly hedge 
to cross. A Catholic with only hazy convictions, 
or without courage to uphold the few he has, capitu- 
lates before the enemy on every occasion, and 
becomes a scandal for his brethren. 

Melgrove was strongly inclined to carry out his 
intention of the previous evening and send a note 
to the Times^ to protest against Newell’s oflSciousness. 

103 


Unrest in the 


It would head off others of his class who might share 
his sentiments on centralization in library matters. 

“ If we let that pass,” he asserted, “ we shall soon 
have a deluge of correspondence, protesting against 
superfluous libraries. I’m for nipping such im- 
pertinence in the bud, and in the public press too,” 
he added, energetically. 

“Theoretically, you are right, Melgrove,” replied 
the pastor. “If Newell and his friends will air 
their grievances against us before the public, they 
should let the public be listeners to the end. But 
practically, would it be prudent ? Men like NeweM 
do not take kindly to castigation in public. A 
sound half-hour’s talk with him would do him 
more good than a letter from you in the Times, 
which would keep wounds open unnecessarily. 
Newell belongs to the class that would hke to pass 
for liberal, — not too bigoted, you know. It is his 
education that is responsible for this. Newellism 
would like to reconcile the Church and the world. 
It has not yet seized what the oneness of Truth is, 
Melgrove; nor how the human mind must neces- 
sarily recoil from error. Don’t be too hard on 
Newell. I will try to see him.” 

Melgrove acquiesced; but, as if recalling some- 
thing he had nearly forgotten, he spoke up, 

“I have a suggestion to make.” 

The smoke began to curl up to the ceiling. 

104 


Camp of the Enemy 


“Well?” retorted the pastor, “I am waiting.” 

“You should give that new library a name as soon 
as possible.” 

“How would Laurenboro Free Library do.-^” 

“ Excellent. Now we have a handle to pull in the 
shekels with.” 

“Second suggestion,” he continued. “Why not 
get some celebrity to lecture in Laurenboro under 
the auspices of the Free Library? It would bring 
the concern before the public in an intellectual way, 
and give it lots of advertising.” 

“Whom would you suggest?” 

“ There is a man creating quite a sensation across 
the border just now” — Melgrove pulled a prospectus 
from his pocket — Professor Blundwell Orrin- 
Flume.” 

“Phew!” cried Father Sinclair, who had advanced 
ideas of his own on triple-masted and hyphenated 
celebrities. 

“ He has a series of lectures,” continued Melgrove. 
“ Could we manage to get him for one, at least ? ” 

“I see no objection on the horizon,” answered 
the pastor. “What are the lectures about? Have 
you the list ? Let us choose one.” 

Melgrove began to read: 

“ ‘First Lecture: delivered successfully over five 
hundred times in different parts of the Union: 

The True Inwardness of Self.’ 

105 


Unrest in the 


‘‘Pure cant/’ exclaimed Father Sinclair. “Some 
psychological analysis that has neither philosophy 
nor sense. Where do these people get their philos- 
ophy ? Pass on.” 

“ ^Sunshine and Shadow, delivered ’ ” 

“Moonshine and darkness/’ said the pastor. 
“Pass on.” 

“ ‘ The History of Hypocrisy ’ ” 

“Has no history. It is ever present. Next.” 

“ ^Shibboleths and Claptrapi ” 

Father Sinclair reflected. “ That sounds well to me. 
Shibboleths and Claptrap ? If the man would only 
treat the subject in a practical way, I think it ought 
to take. You might write to him and get his terms.” 

“I did write,” answered Melgrove, “and here 
is the answer,” handing the letter over. 

“ Professor BlundweU Orrin-Flume respectfully refers 
all applications for dates and lectures to the Flume 
Lecture Bureau, Irving Square, New Y ork. His terms 
are; Two Hundred and fifty dollars and expenses.” 

“But where are we going to get a quarter of a 
thousand dollars to pay a man for an hour’s lecture ? ” 
asked the pastor 

“Advertise. Get the Times to talk about him. 
Get the citizens’ curiosity aroused. Write to Flume 
for an anecdote or two. Hire the biggest hall in 
town. Spend fifty or seventy-five dollars in bill- 
posting; and so on; and so on.” 

106 


Camp of the Enemy 

“But supposing ‘Deception' be our shibboleth 
after all this claptrap ?" objected the pastor. 

“The lecture will be a success — if we go about it 
in the right way.” 

“Will you undertake the job, Melgrove.'^” 

“Of course; willingly. I will start to-morrow.” 

The visitor bade good night to the pastor and left 
the glebe-house. 

Melgrove was in his pastor’s estimation more of a 
philosopher than he was given credit for. People do 
not object to an occasional hoodwinking; they take 
kindly to it; it is one of the phases of our social life. 
And his scheme of advertising the lecture was simply 
carrying out a practice that is changing the con- 
ditions of the world. Newspaper notoriety as a way 
to wealth is what most men are looking for; and they 
get both, because the rest of the world Hkes to be 
hoodwinked. Father Sinclair would have shrunk 
from such methods, but Melgrove had the com- 
mercial instinct. He knew the people and how to 
catch them. That is why he went down-town next 
morning to the Times office, and had a long talk 
with Burton, the editor. The result of the interview 
was the promise of all the space he wanted to ad- 
vertise — Burton called it “booming” — ^the event 
which was to take place the following week. 

Three days later a double column half-tone por- 
trait of Professor Flume appeared in the Times. 

107 


Unrest in the 


He was billed to speak in Orpheon Hall, eight days 
after, in aid of the Laurenboro Free Library. 
Subject: "'Shibboleths and Claptrap.’' 

Day after day a half-column appeared in print 
about the lecturer; his early struggles; how he took 
to the lecture platform; his experiences in slumming 
in London; his escape from a mob in Chicago; his 
visit to the King of Siam, etc. All Laurenboro was 
discussing Professor Blundwell Orrin-Flume before 
the week was out. 

Melgrove had the tickets printed at once and 
distributed in various parts of the city. He had the 
plan of the Orpheon Hall on view in the Eagle 
Rotunda, whither he went every day to see how 
the boxes and reserved seats were going. They were 
going faster than he had anticipated, and he took 
the precaution of reserving a few “ complimentaiies ” 
for the ladies who had worked so hard during the 
Autumn Festival. Melgrove’s tact was equal to his 
skill in matters of organization; and those who knew 
him were sure that there would be no bitterness or ill- 
feeling in any one after he had completed the 
work he had in hand. 

Only three days remained before the lecture, and 
the Times was still talking about Flume. 

“What’s shibboleths, Jake.^” asked Mrs. Herris, 
one evening after laying down the paper. “The 
Times is doing nothing all these days but talking 
108 


Camp of the Enemy 

about that new lecturer and about Shibboleths and 
Claptrap,'" 

“Shibboleths — ^well, madam — ^you know what 
claptrap is — don’t you, dear?” 

Jake made the remark unwittingly. He was only 
trying to gain time while he leaned over to get his 
Worcester. 

“Jacob Herris, that is not nice! You are not 
answering my question. But I am going to hear him 
all the same. Have you secured the tickets ?” 

“Why, madam, he lectures only the day after 
to-morrow. He hasn’t reached town yet. There is 
plenty of time to get tickets.” 

“There is not plenty of time, Jake. I heard to- 
day that the box-office is closed, or about to close, 
and no more tickets would be sold.” 

“That is only an advertising dodge, my dear. 
Some shrewd genius is engineering that lecture, you 
may depend upon it. And he will have a full house 
too. I’ll get the tickets to-morrow. But where and 
what is the Laurenboro Free Library, pray?” 

“Haven’t you heard? That is the new library 
the Catholics are getting up. Father Sinclair is the 
prime mover in the affair.” 

“Glad to hear it,” said Jake Herris. “Father 
Sinclair is a man whom I respect. You’ll find no 
trash in that library, if he has anything to do with it, 

as you do in the Elzevir.” 

109 


The Enemy^s Unrest 


“Jake, you shouldn’t speak that way. Are not 
two of our church elders among the directors ?” 

“Ahem,” retorted Jake, shrugging his shoulders, 
“that doesn’t make the library any better.” 

But a disappointment awaited Herris the next 
morning. The box-office in the Orpheon was closed. 
All the tickets had been sold, and he went home to 
inform his wife that they should have to forego the 
pleasure of hearing Professor Flume. “Sorry we 
can’t hear Shibboleths,” said the husband, looking 
at his better-half. “As for hearing Claptrap — that 
pleasure will end in the grave.” 

Herris disappeared quickly; for his wife was going 
to say something he did not care to listen to. He 
went to his desk and penned a note to Father Sinclair : 

“Pear Reverend Sir: 

“The tickets for the Flume Lecture are all bought up. 
However, I am desirous of showing my appreciation 
of your work. Herein you will find a small cheque 
to help a good thing along. 

“ Sincerely, 

“Jacob Herris.” 

Father Sinclair found a cheque for fifty dollars in 
the letter when he opened his box in the post-office 
the next morning. 

“A gratifying note from a non-Catholic,” he 
mused, “which I shall frame and place beside the 
Newell letter to the Times’" 


110 


CHAPTER X 

A Professional Lecturer Causes a Sensation 

R arely in her annals did Laurenboro witness 
an event like the Flume Lecture. The 
Orpheon,avery fine specimen of Italian Renaissance, 
with its delicately tinted ceiling, its stucco walls and 
columns, and its unexcelled acoustic properties, was 
an ideal hall for a speaker. The wealth and fashion 
turned out to hear Professor Flume; it was strictly a 
society event. The tickets had been placed at two 
dollars, — another of Melgrove’s ideas. Even the 
boxes were filled. “Standing-room only ’’was posted 
as early as eight in the evening. 

Promptly at nine o’clock, the Professor was intro- 
duced; a tall, well-built man, about fifty, clean- 
shaven, and with long iron-gray hair. He possessed 
a rich baritone voice, which he modulated to per- 
fection. His English was the language of a cultured 
speaker; his thoughts were those of a man who had 
mingled experience with his philosophy. 

“Shibboleths,” said the lecturer, among other 
things, after he had warmed to his subject, “is a 
catchword which charms the minds of the many 

who will not reason for themselves.” 

Ill 


A Professional Lecturer 


“In nearly every epoch a majority of the human 
race has set up some shibboleth as the sum and 
substance of its thinking; only one man in a thou- 
sand we meet daily is an exact thinker, who insists 
on getting his facts at first-hand. The multitude is 
entranced by generalities and fine phrases. It cares 
more for sound than for sense. It is swayed hither 
and thither, not by reason, but by sentiment. 

“ Ask most men who are prating about Progress — 
with the capital P — what they mean by the term, 
and they will stammer for an answer. They have 
in their minds no definite idea of progress, but only 
a vague notion that it means a general advance from 
a worse to a better state. But ask them to define 
still further, and they are dumb. 

“Is not the shibboleth ‘non -sectarianism’ the 
tyrant of the present age ? a catchword that sounds 
well in the mouths of rhetoricians and demagogues ? 
that warps the judgment of millions of men, and 
moves them to outrage the sacred rights of conscience ? 
How many men could define it? What does non- 
sectarianism mean? What does it teach? That 
the Creator of the Universe, who took the trouble 
to reveal definite truths to us, cares not whether we 
believe them or not, and leaves the interpretation 
of them to the fallible minds of men; that God is 
indifferent to objective truth, and that to assert a 
truth or deny it is equally pleasing to Him; that 
112 


Causes a Sensation 


the State which represents His authority has no 
right to protect truth against the encroachments of 
error. The shibboleth of non-sectarianism is a 
deliberate insult flung into the face of God, who is 
Absolute Truth. Its constant cry among us shows 
the weakness of our poor humanity; it only proves 
that we are men who are moved more by the will 
than the mind. We are rational beings; but, as 
a matter of fact we are not reasoners. We follow 
the shouter of a shibboleth as a flock of sheep 
follows the bell-wether. Even those of us who are 
men of education and independent intellects are 
subject to the influence of phrases which, by dint 
of repetition, come to have a mastery over our 
minds. Could there be any greater humiliation for 
our race and is there no remedy ? 

“I do not profess Catholicism,” exclaimed the 
lecturer, who had flung himself into his subject, and 
who at times was surpassingly eloquent, “but I do 
admire the marvellous logic of its position. Where 
shall we find on God’s broad earth to-day such a 
masterly organization ? or such a determined foe of 
moral error? We have had flaunted in our faces 
for years the shibboleths of non-sectarian schools, 
non-sectarian universities, non-sectarian libraries, 
non-sectarian sources of thought and education. 
What does it all mean ? Non-sectarianism at bottom 

means Godlessness, or it means nothing. 

113 


A Professional Lecturer 


“ Take our schools, our colleges, our universities, 
our public libraries, without a supreme mind or 
voice to direct them into one groove of truth and 
action, for the welfare, moral and ethical, of the 
race, and what will be the result ? Send a thousand 
ships out over the bosom of the broad Atlantic 
without a compass, and where will they land? 
Turn a hundred thousand children into the world 
loose, without definite knowledge of the Infinite 
Being, without moral sanction for their actions 
other than the fear of prison stripes and iron bars, 
and what will become of a nation? Hurl millions 
of books into your millions of homes to spread moral 
and intellectual leprosy, without a strong hand and 
a stronger mind to control them, and what will 
become of the faith and morality of the people ? 

“In the presence of these terrific dangers — ^I am 
speaking to-night in the interests of the library — 
the Roman Index, an institution that controls the 
reading, that gives direction to the thoughts and 
sentiments and protects the minds and hearts, of 
two hundred and fifty millions of our race, is one of 
the greatest safeguards of the nations from intel- 
lectual and moral defilement that was ever con- 
ceived by the mind of men. 

“Believe me, ladies and gentlemen, when this 
earth of ours ceases to be a human abode, when the 

history of man on our planet ends, when the Great 
114 


Causes a Sensation 


Master comes to sum up results, there will be many 
surprises in store for us. But I fear not to say that, 
when that dread moment comes, we shall find that 
the Roman Church, with her unity of thought and 
direction, was the only rational agency ever devised 
to direct the minds of men, an agency that had its 
inception in the mind of God.” 

The orator retired to his seat amid tumultuous 
applause. Never did Laurenboro hear such elo- 
quence, or so many truths so forcibly put. Even the 
Newells in Box K clapped their hands. 

Father Sinclair, Melgrove, and the rest of the 
Organizing Committee went on to the stage and 
shook the hand of the lecturer, who was wiping 
the perspiration from his brow. 

“Congratulations, Professor! Masterly effort!” 
broke in the half-dozen voices. 

. “Thank you, gentlemen, thank you,” replied 
the orator, in a matter-of-fact way. 

“We shall have the pleasure of hearing you 
again ?” asked Father Sinclair. 

“Kindly communicate with the Flume Lecture 
Bureau, Irving Square, New York,” answered the 
Professor, who, rising to his feet, continued, “You 
will excuse me, gentlemen, — I must catch the night 
train. I lecture west of the Rockies on Thursday 
next. So I shall say au revoirT And the Professor 
was gone. 


115 


A Professional Lecturer 


The business-like tone of these remarks came 
like a cold clap to Father Sinclair, and told him, 
then and there, that he was having to do with a 
professional lecturer at so much a night. But no 
matter; some solid truths had been sent home. 
The lecture would do good. 

Next day, Melgrove handed the astonished pastor 
an eighteen-hundred dollar cheque for the Lauren- 
boro Library. 

“Melgrove, you are a bom impresario. I thank 
you, and congratulate you on your success.” 

“It’s the knowing how to go about it, Father. 
Advertise. Get the people interested, and the 
victory is yours. And we intend to follow up our 
success. In to-night’s Times there will be an elab- 
orate report of the lecture. To-morrow the whole 
town will be discussing the Roman Index, non- 
sectarianism, et cetera. Burton promised me that 
the lecture should also go into the weekly edition; 
in that way the whole country will learn something 
about the Church and her way of doing things. 
I must be off home. Mrs. Melgrove could not come 
last night. Our little Helen is ill, and we are quite 
anxious.” 

Evidently the popularity of the Free Library was 
growing. Two thousand four hundred dollars 
would bring in a first instalment of books. Father 

Sinclair went to his study to write invitations to a 
116 


Causes a Sensation 


few ladies to meet at the glebe-house the day follow- 
ing. He had secured catalogues from the various 
publishers, and he needed aid in making a selection. 

He recoiled from the task for various reasons. 
His own studies had thrown him out of the beaten 
track. He was a great reader and devoured works 
of philosophy and the sciences as soon as they ap- 
peared : he wanted to know what men were thinking 
about in the world. But fiction, with the exception 
of the old standard authors, which everybody reads, 
was quite an unknown world to him. 

A perusal of the catalogues made this still more 
evident. He plodded through page after page of 
unfamiliar names. He glanced at the titles of thou- 
sands of books he had never heard of before, and he 
marvelled at the activity of the human mind. He 
counted the pages of titles and names, and found 
twenty of fiction to one of science or philosophy. 
Was this a good criterion of the trend of modern 
intellectual tastes ? 

“ I am surely becoming an old fogey, or the world 
is getting ahead of me,” he mused, as the pages of 
the catalogues were passing through his fingers; 
“not one of my favorite authors, except Thackeray, 
is to be found in these lists.” 

The world had not gone ahead of him; it had 
simply deviated a few degrees from its former 
course. This was the Age of Fiction — a discovery 
117 


A Professional Lecturer 

Father Sinclair had made in the course of a few 
hours. 

The following afternoon a coterie of ladies came 
and began the work of choosing the books for the 
new Library. The quickest way was to check off 
the names on the catalogues, and then send these to 
their respective publishers. When there was a 
doubt as to the author’s spirit, he was passed over 
with a query. Father Sinclair reserved to himself 
the selection of the more serious works which he 
purposed adding to the Library. 

“Father, your serious works will never be called 
for,” ventured Miss Garvey, who had been named 
Chief Librarian of the new institution. “ I fear you 
will regret the outlay. Free libraries nowadays are 
fiction libraries; and people do not read heavy books.” 

The little lady was speaking out of the fulness of 
five years’ experience in the Humboldt; but this was 
a novel point of view for the pastor. 

“Would it not rather be better to double some of 
the popular authors for the first instalment, and let 
the serious works wait till later ? ” she asked. 

“ Do you mean to tell me that people read nothing 
serious nowadays ? ” he replied. 

“ Not when there is a novel in the house. Father.” 

“Do you want me to believe. Miss Garvey, that 
people would give over a solid book of history 
biography for a silly love-tale.^” 

118 


or 


Causes a Sensation 


“Precisely; every time,” returned Miss Garvey. 
And the other girls laughed. 

“Decidedly, I have slipped a few cogs. Why, in 
my time, Scott, Thackeray, Dickens, and a few 
others, were all we read.” 

“But that was a long time ” Miss Garvey 

smiling, checked herself. She was on the verge of 
making a tremendous slip. 

“What a dreadful girl you are!” exclaimed the 
others, when the pastor had gone. “What will 
Father Sinclair think of you ? You have made him 
think he is an old man.” 

“Can’t improve on Nature!” she replied quickly. 
“ F ather Sinclair himself admits that he knows prac- 
tically little about modem fiction. How could he? 
He has something else to do besides reading trash. 
Ladies, I was five years in the Humboldt, and I 
know that half the novels published are trash, pure 
and simple — and you know it too. The dialogue 
is insipid; the descriptions are stilted and unreal. 
Novels give false views of life, develop morbid tastes, 
put sentiment above reason, just as the lecturer said 
the other night. I read novels then, because it was 
my livelihood, and I know whereof I speak. But 
people will read, and we must provide them with 
the least unwholesome food we can find. I con- 
fess the drecise value of the Roman Index never 
flashed on my mind so vividly as when Profes- 
119 


The Professional Lecturer 


sor Flume described its workings and its results/* 
Meanwhile the checking was completed and twelve 
hundred volumes were ordered. In a few days 
they were in the large hall adjoining the church 
ready to be unboxed, revised, numbered, set in their 
places on the shelves, and then thrown into circula- 
tion. The Revising Committee began their laborious 
work of reading and criticising every volume. 


CHAPTER XI 


The Fountain in Blenheim Square 

rriHE days were passing. The second heavy fall 
of snow had come, and had thrown another 
mantle of white over the whole city of Laurenboro. 
The merry jingle of sleigh-bells filled the frosty air, 
as the aristocracy of the West End flitted along 
Ashburne Avenue every afternoon in their robes of 
fur. 

In striking contrast with this luxury of display 
was the condition of the poor in the lower parts of 
the city. The closing down of the large iron-mills, 
owing to an over-stocked market the directors said, 
and the early setting in of the winter, threatened to 
bear heavily on the poorer quarters. Gottingen 
Ward would feel the want of food and clothing; and 
Father Sinclair, with a heart that went out to the 
poor, was taking his precautions to be able to cope 
with their appeals of relief. He called on the Ladies 
of Charity to meet on Wednesdays to begin their 
winter’s work. 

Mrs. Melgrove, whose name was held in venera- 
tion among the poorer families of the Gottingen 
121 


The Fountain 


district, had been his ablest assistant in the work of 
the Association; but he received a note just before 
the meeting which informed him that she could not 
be present owing to the illness of her little daughter. 

Miss Garvey presided at this first meeting, which 
was held at the glebe-house; and the ladies present 
had just ended their deliberations when a heavy pull 
at the doorbell drew the attention of the pastor. 

“There’s a gentleman here that wants to see your 
Reverence,” said Nanny, poking her head into the 
meeting-room. Before Father Sinclair could rise to 
f go, the door opened, and Silas Maglundy walked in. 

“ Mr. Maglundy, I declare,” exclaimed the pastor. 
“Ladies, let me introduce Mr. Maglundy, one of 
our new arrivals in Laurenboro. This is Miss 
Garvey, our aeting president, and these are her 
assistants.” 

“ Miss Garvey,” said Mr. Maglundy, very nervous, 
apparently, in the presence of ladies, but trpng to 
be amiable; “I think we met before. Did I not 
help you along in some good work you were inter- 
ested in a few days ago ? I thought I recognized 
your face.” 

Miss Garvey quietly answered, “ The new library, 
sir.” She was dying to say more — ^to tell him that 
he had bought only one ticket. 

“Ladies,” interposed the pastor, “Mr. Maglundy 
is the gentleman whose name has appeared in the 
122 


In Blenheim Square 


Times so often lately in connection with the new 
fountain in Blenheim Square.” 

“Yes, Father; we read about it,” answered Miss 
Garvey. “We have heard that it is going to be a 
work of art.” 

“I trust it will be appreciated by the people of 
Laurenboro,” added the old man. “It has given 
me a great deal of thought, how I could be of use to 
my fellow-citizens. One likes to be of some little 
use in this world, you know.” 

“Undoubtedly,” said Miss Garvey, who was 
spokeswoman for the assembly. “Drinking-water 
is such a blessing.” 

She looked at Father Sinclair as she spoke. 

“We are here this evening,” ventured the pastor, 
“in the interests of the poor of Laurenboro. We 
are going to have a great many indigent families 
with us this winter.” 

“ O yes, the poor,” sighed Mr. Maglundy. “That 
was one of my reasons for thinking of a fountain ” 

“Not the chief one,” thought Miss Garvey. 

“ and I feel that every time they drink they 

will think of the old man who thought of them.” 

“That’s just it!” mused the little lady to herself, 
who was by this time thinking fiercely. The farce 
was being prolonged beyond measure, and the 
ladies quietly departed to begin the following day 

their work of collecting for the poor. 

123 


The Fountain 


“Will you come upstairs?’’ the pastor asked the 
millionaire when the ladies had left. 

They were soon seated in the study where Father 
Sinclair’s leisure moments were mostly spent. The 
four walls were covered with books, the only real 
companions of his life; his personal friends standing 
side by side on their wooden thoroughfares in that 
silent city; friends, cold and inert, and with many 
a worm, perhaps, gnawing at their vitals, but whose 
souls, still pregnant with thought and beauty, yielded 
up their treasures at his bidding. A “ poets’ corner” 
stood near the door, with the Bard of Avon looking 
down from his frame. Beside it, the “Lives” of 
a few men whose lives were worth recording. Else- 
where, hundreds of volumes of theology, philosophy, 
and other branches of human learning. On a 
throne of honor over the mantelpiece, and bound in 
purple — emblematic of their place in Father Sin- 
clair’s esteem — stood the works of Aquinas. It was in 
this room and with this companionship that the pastor 
composed his sermons, wrote his letters, formed his 
plans, and now and then entertained his friends. 

“Fawther,” began Mr. Maglundy, who was soon 
made to feel at home by the genial priest, “I have 
come to-night to ask a little service of you in the 
matter of the fountain. The workmen are now 
putting it in position, and in a few days it will be 

formally handed over to the citizens of Laurenboro. 

124 


In Blenheim Square 

No doubt I shall have to address a few words to the 
public assembled on that occasion. I have cudgelled 
my brains for something to say, and I can find 
nothing there. I have stayed awake for the past 
two nights, and still nothing has come.” 

“I trust you are not going to ask me to make a 
speech ?” nervously ventured Father Sinclair. 

“No, Fawther, I should like to make the speech 
myself. But might I ask you to write it for me? 
A few ideas, you know, in language appropriate for 
the occasion. And written plainly.” 

“I will do that for you, Mr. Maglundy, with 
pleasure. Do you want it now, or shall I mail it 
to you ?” 

“ O thank you, Fawther, just drop it into the box. 
The carrier will leave it at my residence. I am 
getting quite anxious; for I feel that the occasion 
will be one of great importance.” 

Maglundy was rising to go. 

“By the way,” interrupted Father Sinclair, “You 
mentioned, in your note the other evening, that you 
had changed the inscription a bit.” 

“Yes; a friend called, and he suggested a slight 
change which pleased me very much.” The visitor 
pulled a document from his pocket and opened it. 
“ The inscription will now read, 

DONVM SILVM MAGLVNDiVM. 


125 


The Fotrntain 


The M’s will imitate the gentle mooing of the cow, 
you know. When you hear the words repeated, you 
almost hear the voice of the peaceful brute whose 
glassy eyes ” 

‘T am sorry you did such a thing,” broke in the 
pastor, hotly; “that is not Latin. Is the tablet cast 
yet?" 

“Yes, Fawther, the tablet is cast, and the con- 
tractors are putting it in position. I trust you will 
be able to come to the formal presentation.” And 
bidding the pastor good night, Mr. Maglundy dis- 
appeared in the darkness. 

“I certainly will not go,” muttered the priest. 
“That man will disgrace himself; he is going to 
make a laughing-stock of himself. But his pride is 
insufferable; let it have a come-down.” 

Maglundy had not reached the first corner when 
a scruple came to Father Sinclair. Was it not his 
duty to prevent the man from making a fool of 
himself? Was he not cooperating in a <fishonorable 
work in writing a speech for such an occasion? 
Should he not try to keep that man from flaunting 
his ignorance and bad taste in the face of the public ? 
Besides, he had the interests of Laurenboro at heart, 
and her good name. What would strangers and 
tourists say when they passed through Blenheim 
Square and saw a cow and calf reposing in the 
middle of a basin of water? Laurenboro would be 
m 


In Blenheim Square 


the talk of the continent ; he had half a mind to drop 
Maglundy a note to tell him that he could not carry 
out his promise. 

However, there was a way out of it. The fountain 
would not play this winter at any rate; and some 
one might open Maglundy’s eyes before springtime, 
to the mistakes in the Latin inscription, and to the 
incongruity of the whole thing. So he wrote the 
speech and mailed it. 

During the three days preceding the dedication, 
the Times had long articles on the new work of art 
that was soon to grace Blenheim Square. The story 
of the donor’s life was told, his early struggles, 
his mining career, his successes in Trans-Siberian 
stocks, his arrival in Laurenboro, his princely 
mansion, etc. But some one must have given the 
tip to Burton, or he may have caught a glimpse of 
the cow and the inscription; for the tone of the paper 
suddenly changed. Father Sinclair could detect the 
sarcasm of it all; and so could the other readers, 
when the day before the ceremony. Burton pub- 
lished his double-leaded article on “ The Cow’s Role 
in Art,” with his two subheadings, “The Cow in 
Classics,” and “The Cow in Grammar.” 

“I suppose you will be at the demonstration this 
afternoon?” asked Burton, when he met the priest 
at the post-office that morning. 

“I don’t think so,” he replied, with a smile. 

127 


The Fountam 


“Wait till you see the Times to-morrow. The 
ignorance of that upstart, because he has a few 
hundred thousand dollars, to try to impose a mon- 
strosity like that on this town!” 

“There is some foundation for your remark,” 
replied the pastor; “but do not be too hard on him. 
Some one will open his eyes one of these days.” 

“That was a brilliant lecture we had at the Or- 
pheon,” interrupted Burton, changing the subject. 
“Professor Flume opened my eyes to some things 
that I did not know before. There are still a few 
details that are not quite clear to me regarding the 
Roman Index. Will you allow me to call one of 
these evenings?” 

“Shall we say to-night?” asked the pastor. 

“Not to-night. I shall be occupied with Ma- 
glundy’s cow. I want to get it into to-morrow’s 
paper. Let us say Thursday, at seven.” 

And while the editor passed out to the street. 
Father Sinclair opened the mail-box. 

A letter was awaiting him from the Archbishop, 
asking him if he could find room in the parish for 
half a dozen Little Sisters of the Poor, exiled from 
France, who would land in Laurenboro in a few 
weeks. 

“ I will make room,” muttered the priest, who had 
been following with feelings of intense horror the 
phases of the odious persecution that was driving 
128 


In Blenheim Square 


thousands of God’s chosen souls out of the fair field 
of France. “I’ll find room for those Little Sisters,” 
he continued, “and I am pleased that they are 
coming. They will show some of our gossamer 
society people what sacrifices can be made for the 
Faith.” 

Father Sinclair set about this pressing work just 
as soon as he returned to the glebe-house. Where 
were the exiles to be lodged.^ He had several 
buildings in view. There was that large one on 
Wellington Avenue, vacant for over a year. It 
belonged to the Newells; and here was an oppor- 
tunity for Kenneth Newell to do an act of charity. 
Father Sinclair immediately wrote him a polite note, 
detailing as frankly as possible the pitiful situation of 
the exiles and reminding him that a cup of cold water 
given in charity would receive its reward in heaven. 

It was a gentle hint that the use of the building 
should be given free to the Little Sisters, at least 
temporarily. If Newell had any manhood left, he 
could not turn a deaf ear to this pleading in favor of 
half a dozen women consecrated to God and His 
poor. The pastor had consulted his own heart in 
the wording, but after the letter was dropped into 
the box he thought that perhaps he should have been 
a little more reseiwed in asldng favors from a man of 
the Newell stamp. After all, it was the whole truth, 

and he did not regret what he had written. 

129 


The Fountain 


The dedication of the fountain in Blenheim Square 
was fixed for three o’clock. Promptly at that hour 
Maglundy, the Mayor, and several of the aldermen 
stepped upon the platform raised before an object 
hidden under a white canvas, and lying, as it were, 
on a hillock in the basin of ice. The Square was 
crowded with people; and expectant faces filled all 
the windows, many of which were thrown open in 
spite of the cold. 

Maglundy, rising, began to say something. A 
shrill voice heard over Blenheim Square shouted — 

“A little louder Mr. Maglundy; we cannot hear 
you!” 

The speaker suddenly stopped; his face grew red; 
his fingers twitched; his eyes gazed at nothing; the 
words would not come — ^the old miner was stage- 
struck. Mayor Bruce and the aldermen grew 
nervous. Maglundy opened his coat to get his 
speech; but it was not in his pocket. He had left 
it on his desk. 

There was no remedy; so the millionaire ended the 
agony of suspense by jerking at the cord which was 
near his hand. The canvas parted, and revealed to 
the cheering throng a cow recumbent on a bronze 
mound in ice, looking with affection at a frisky calf 
beside her. The chief workman then cried : “Turn 
on the water ” ; but the pipes were frozen as hard 
as adamant. 


130 


In Blenheim Square 


Maglundy’s role being over, the Mayor stood up. 
In a clear, ringing voice he praised the spirit which 
prompted such acts of public generosity 

The donor bowed. 

^and predicted that as long as the noble 

animal here present, one of man’s most faithful 
friends 

Maglundy bowed again. 

should lie chewing her cud on her hillock 

of bronze, the name of Silas Maglundy should be 
remembered. 

The donor shook hands with the Mayor and the 
aldermen. He had by this time completely regained 
his composure; and feeling elated over the Mayor’s 
words, he stepped into his sleigh, with great dignity, 
and told the driver to head for home. 

The throng lingered, surged past the few police- 
men, and crowded up to the basin. 

“ O hokey, fellers, look at de cow!” shouted one of 
the small boys. 

“Moo-o-o-o-o!” vociferated a dozen more. 

“ Maglundy ’s cow!” exclaimed a number ot on- 
lookers, simultaneously. 

That settled it. The fountain was dubbed once 
and forever. And the Laurenboro cab-drivers had 
one more object of interest to point out to their fares. 

The crowd then quickly dispersed, all in the b^st 

of humor — ^all with the exception of a little lean man, 
131 


The Fountain 


with spectacles and long hair, Professor Catow, of 
Royalview University. 

Catow had a literary fad, and that was the study 
of epigraphs. He had been for years an active 
member of the Academy of Inscriptions. The old 
Roman lapidary style, he said, appealed to him. 
In a letter to the Times, during his tour in Europe, 
he wrote that he had spent half a day contemplating 
the symmetry of the lettering on the Arch of Constan- 
tine. It was admitted by everybody that he had the 
finest collection of epigraphs in Laurenboro. 

Nearsighted, he got as close as possible, and began 
to read the tablet on the Maglundy fountain. He 
read it once; then again. Then taking off his spec- 
tacles, he wiped them well and took another look. 

“Shades of the Romans!” he exclaimed. “Do 
mine eyes deceive me ? What does this mean ?” 

And he read aloud — Donum Silum Maglundium. 

He evidently took the inscription seriously, for he 
drew out his note-book and pencil and copied it. 

The next day a letter appeared in the Times: 

To the Editor: 

Has not the carver made a slight error in his 
grammar in the inscription on the fountain unveiled 
yesterday? What is his authority for the absence of 
the genitive case in the words of the name ? 

Yours, 

Horace Virgil Catow, A. M. 

The Royalview professor should have waited 
132 


In Blenheim Square 


the issue of the Times that night. Never in the 
history of Laurenboro did a man get such a scorching 
as Maglundy got from the editor, not merely for 
his want of taste in the selection of a figure for a 
public fountain, but for his unwarrantable pride in 
foisting a three-thousand-dollar horror on Lauren- 
boro when there were whole families in Gottingen 
Ward perishing for want of food and fuel. 


188 


J 


CHAPTER XII 


Father Sinclair Begins to Operate on an Editor 

^ ^ T TIT him hard, didn’t I?” asked Burton, 
when he entered the pastor’s study, the 
next evening at seven. 

“You certainly hit him hard,” replied Father 
Sinclair. “But I fear his epiderm is proof against 
your prose. I shall soon learn how he has taken it, 
for he is sure to call.” 

“Now, Father, let us drop Maglundy. I have 
been after him for three days. The object of my 
visit here to-night, as I told you, is to get further 
elucidation on the Roman Index that Professor 
Orrin-Flume went into raptures over. You know 
the ideas we Protestants have about that institution.” 

“Know them root and branch,” rejoined the 
pastor. 

“Is it true that you do not allow your people to 
read any books they have a mind to ” 

“ That is true.” 

“ And what is the reason of the prohibition ? ” 

“The same reason that our civil government has 
for preventing the publication and propagation of 

anarchist literature,” replied Father Sinclair, quickly; 

135 


Father Sinclair Begins 


“the same reason why you would not allow demoral- 
izing books or pictures into your home; the very 
same reason why you yourself advocated so strongly 
last year more stringent quarantine laws.’’ 

That kind of logic appealed to Burton, who con- 
tinued : 

“But I do not see the application in matters of 
religion, wherein men may use their own judg- 
ment.” 

“Well, I’ll show you, if you will allow me. There 
are matters of religion in which people are not 
capable of using their judgment. Let us take the 
question before us. There is no difficulty about the 
forbidding of books dangerous to morals; people 
are pretty well agreed on that point. It is against 
the natural law even for pagans to steep their 
minds in such literature. 

“In questions of doctrine, we do not admit your 
theory of private judgment. ‘He who does not hear 
the Church’ — ^you know the rest. The Catholic 
Church, being the sole depository of the truths 
which Christ revealed while He was here on earth, 
she alone has the right to say what is revelation and 
what is not; what should be taught and what not. 
If the Church discovers a work that falsifies these 
doctrines or tries to undermine belief in them, she 
who has the responsibility of souls, very properly 
puts a ban on it. She simply prevents her children 
136 


To Operate on an Editor 


from reading it. Is not everything reasonable so 
far?” asked Father Sinclair. 

“But how can the Church make such a claim 
that she alone has the privilege of holding the 
revealed truths?” 

“ One thing at a time. Burton. That is another 
question, which is proved by means of arguments 
which are just as convincing. But are you beginning 
to appreciate the logic that captivated Professor 
Flume?” 

“ I am undoubtedly. I have always admired the 
Catholic Church for her consistency in thought and 
action.” 

“And that consistency, Burton, comes from the 
conviction that she alone is the Church of Christ; 
that the Divine Saviour did not found six hundred 
Churches, as we see to-day teaching contradictory 
doctrines, nor five, nor two, but only one. Truth 
is one, and only the whole truth is one. Here is a 
little work which explains the logic of the Church in 
her system of doctrine, morality, and discipline. 
Read it carefully and let me hear your objections.” 

Suiting the action to the words. Father Sinclair 
handed him a small volume, to which he quickly 
added others from his well-stocked library of con- 
troversial literature. 

“Outside the Catholic Church,” he continued, 
“men using their private judgment may read what 
137 


Father Sinclair Begins 


they please and believe what they please. Few 
minds are sufficiently well trained to recognize 
error in all its forms, especially when it is served up 
in an attractive style. What is the result? Not 
being able to discern the wheat from the chaflP, 
they are ensnared by the sophistries of clever writers. 
They have no grounding in sound philosophy or 
theology, without which human thought runs wild.’’ 

This was all new to Burton. 

“ Now my object in establishing a Catholic hbrary 
in Laurenboro is to prevent our own people, who are 
not sufficiently educated, not merely from being 
imbued with ideas that might lower their morals, 
but from assimilating doctrines that are false. 
Lord Bacon once said that if he were allowed to 
control the hterature of the household, he would 
guarantee the well-being of Church and State. The 
Church fully recognizes the tremendous influence 
books and reading have on the plastic minds of 
youth. More depends on the kind of food a growing 
mind takes in for its regular diet than on the nature 
of the food hat nourishes the body. 

“Leaving aside the damaging effects of mere 
desultory reading on individuality of character, is 
it not a fact Burton, that the topics treated with 
such a show of learning in modern writings are 
debasing in the extreme ? To cite an instance. Are 
not the problems discussed in nine-tenths of the 
138 


To Operate on an Editor 


works on the shelves of our public libraries merely 
developments of the sordid difficulties of the life of 
man as an animal — difficulties that are not problems 
at all, and with the solution of which, at least as far 
as theory goes, no right-minded man has any trouble ? 
Think of the oceans of such literature that are flood- 
ing our country, and realize how imminent is the 
danger. 

“The same reasoning holds good in the realm of 
doctrine. If we had no knowledge of the truth; 
if we had still to grope in the dark for the solution 
of what men might please to call the Enigma of Life 
and its hereafter; if rehgion were something still 
hazy and undefined, and not a positive science that 
may be studied like any other branch of human 
learning, then there might be a reason for the 
wanderings and searchings of our age. Every shred 
of truth might well be grasped at to help in the un- 
ravelling of the great human problem. But all this 
has been done for us by God Himself, when He 
revealed to us what we should believe, and how we 
should act. What need is there to waste time in 
looking further.^” 

Burton sat reflecting. He followed Father Sin- 
clair with intense interest. 

“We have just received twelve hundred volumes,” 
continued the pastor, “ from various publishing 
houses. Do you suppose that they are to be num- 
139 


Father Sinclair Begins 


bered and put into circulation at once? No, sir; 
before they are put on the shelves every one will be 
carefully read by a competent critic, and if found 
unfit will be thrown aside. 

“ Now, let us turn to the Elzevir — not to mention 
names. What guarantee has a parent that his 
child’s mind or heart shall not be corrupted by the 
books he gets there ? Truth and error, books good 
and bad, uplifting and debasing, are flung over the 
counter to anybody and everybody. The other day 
I caught in the hands of one of my young men a work 
by the infamous Renan, taken from the Elzevir. 
Such a thing would be impossible with us. The 
Congregation of the Index puts a check on us Cath- 
olics throughout the world. It tells us what we may 
not read without danger to our souls. Is this 
restricting our liberty? Is it restricting the liberty 
of a blind man to snatch the cup of poison from his 
lips, or to prevent him from walking over a mountain 
cliff ? The Roman Index points out what is hurtful 
to faith or morals; tells us, for instance, that such a 
book or such an author swerves considerably from 
the path of truth, and then with the authority of the 
Church behind it forbids Catholics to read it.” 

“But does the Roman Index read all the books 
that are published,” inquired the editor, “to know 
which are good and which are bad ? ” 

“ Not necessarily. Whenever a bad book appears 
140 


To Operate on an Editor 


in any country, it is soon brought to the notice of 
the clergy and their bishops. These notify the 
Congregation of the Index, and a decree is issued, 
prohibiting Catholics from reading the work until 
the author submits himself to the teaching of the 
Church, and makes amends by correcting his errors.” 

“Thank you; this conversation has opened up a 
new horizon to me.” 

“Mr. Burton, you appear to me to be a fair- 
minded man. I wish you would look into the claims 
of the Catholic Church a little farther. You would 
find much to interest you, and perhaps a little 
instruction. I shall be happy to unravel any knotty 
points that may spring up.” 

The editor left him, brimful of ideas. A new 
world had been revealed to Burton. We shall see 
later with what results. 

It was with men of this stamp that Father Sinclair 
was at his best; and he took pains to attract them. 
Already in Laurenboro, through his tactful man- 
oeuvering, aided by God’s grace, eight or ten of its 
professional men had had their eyes opened to the 
truths and beauties of the Catholic Church and were 
now among the most fervent of his flock. His Lenten 
course of controversial lectures always brought to 
St. Paul’s an unusual gathering from the various 
denominations. Father Sinclair detested error, 

but like a true pastor of souls he sympathized with 
141 


Father Sinclair Begins 


and loved the erring and sought on all occasions to 
enlighten them. The new library might become a 
powerful lever in his hands, and that was the chief 
reason — notwithstanding Miss Garvey’s objections 
— why he was going to set apart a section to be 
devoted exclusively to controversial and dogmatic 
literature. 

As he and Burton had surmised, the article in the 
Times on the dedication of the fountain deeply 
wounded the feelings of Silas Maglundy. The old 
man came the very next day to the glebe-house to 
unburden himself of his grievances. He found the 
genial pastor in his study. 

“I suppose, Fawther, you perused the Times* 
account of the dedication of my monument?” he 
inquired, when both were seated. 

‘‘ I glanced over it,” replied the pastor. 

‘‘Is it not disgraceful that men will employ their 
talents to vilify the actions and misconstrue the 
motives of their fellow-men ? It has simply crushed 
me. It was my most earnest desire to be of some use 
to the citizens among whom I have come to live; 
and here I am held up to all Laurenboro as the 
veriest upstart.” 

Maglundy displayed deep feeling. 

“I have a good notion to send back the Times; 
formally refuse it, sir, when it reaches my residence.” 

“What a catastrophe is in store for Burton — or 
142 


To Operate on an Editor 

for his little newsboy!” thought Father Sinclair. 

“The base ingratitude! And what did that 
nincompoop from the University want to know about 
the inscription.^” 

“As to that, Mr. Maglundy,” said the pastor, 
calmly, “I told you that the change was wrong. 
The Latin language has fixed rules; that is one of 
the results of its being a dead language. It does not 
change. Now, Professor Catow knows Latin. And 
there you are.” 

“ But what matters a letter at the end of a name 

“It matters so much that the inscription is no 
longer Latin.” 

“ Well, I must have it changed. But I feel pained 
at the Times, and I thank you for your sympathy.” 

Father Sinclair had not given him much sympathy 
in this interview, but it was evident that he was 
gaining the confidence of the old man. The little 
millionaire had shown this since they first met. 
The pastor felt it also; and he asked himself, as he 
sat there listening to his woes, if it were not possible 
to break in somewhere through that crust of pride, 
and bring Maglundy to a sense of his duty. The 
old man’s heart was in the right place, evidently; but 
he was densely ignorant. And his false ideas of his 
duties and privileges as a citizen had their source in 
this ignorance. 

It was rather a deiicate task to raise the veil just 
143 


Father Sinclair Begins 


yet. The pastor of souls felt that he should have to 
wait a little longer. The time would come when he 
could speak more plainly. It was not the heart; 
it was the head that needed touching up. But there 
was one thing that he could not let ~ass; the moment 
seemed too favorable to be lost. 

“ You told me, the first time I called on you, that 
you were a Catholic, ” ventured the pastor. 

“ Certainly, Fawther. You never doubted it, 
surely.^” Maglundy looked surprised. 

“No, I did not doubt it. I took your word for it. 
I have no doubt that you are a Catholic at heart. 
But there are certain external obligations that ac- 
company our belief, that everyone expects Catholics 
to fulfil ” 

“And what are they, pray?” asked Maglundy, 
still surprised. 

“ Well, one is going to Mass on Sundays. It is a law 
of the Church, which must be observed when possible.” 

“ I believe you, Fawther.” 

“Now the prominent position you have acquired 
in Laurenboro brings with it certain duties that you 
cannot overlook.” 

“I understand.” 

“People are so prone to judge the actions of 
others ” 

“O, indeed,” Maglundy sighed; “I have had 
painful experience of that.” 

144 


To Operate on an Editor 


“And when they see a man of your wealth and 
influence” — Maglundy was moved — ^"‘claiming the 
privileges of Church membership, and still neglecting 
one of the essential duties, naturally they form their 
opinions and — express them.” 

“ Have people spoken of me to you ?” 

“Certainly they have. I have had half a dozen 
ask, ‘Father, is Mr. Maglundy one of ours? We 
never see him at Mass.’ ” 

“I understand. All this is something I was not 
aware of, and I am glad you have told me. Come 
to think of it, you must be right. I can recall some 
of the sermons I heard when I was a wee boy. But 
you know I have been away from churches and 
chapels for the past forty years. Where I lived in 
the mines, there was no church or priest to be seen.” 

“Do not think I am reproaching you, Mr. Ma- 
glundy. I understand the circumstances of your 
previous life, and I appreciate the difficulties you 
have had to contend with. But circumstances have 
changed. The difficulties have disappeared; noth- 
ing but facilities remain; and your present obliga- 
tions are what I desire to impress on you.” 

“Fawther, it is my intention to go to church 
every Sunday henceforward. Are there any seats 
to be had?” 

“ Certainly, sir.” 

Father Sinclair brought out a plan of the pews at 
145 


Father Sinclair Plans 


St. Paul’s and pointed out several unrented pews. 

“Not too high up! Not too high up!” the old 
miner exclaimed, while he drew the pastor’s finger 
down to the very bottom of the plan. 

But the pews were all taken down there. Ma- 
glundy had to be satisfied with the third from the 
top. At Mass, he would find himself seated right in 
front of Miss Garvey. 

“ How much am I to pay for this pew ?” 

“The pew-rent is taken up quarterly,” replied 
the pastor. “ Do not trouble yourself about that.” 

Maglundy shook the priest’s hand warmly, and 
left the glebe-house. 


146 


CHAPTER XIII 

Burton Assists at an “Auto da Fe*’ 

AyT EANWHILE the Revising Committee had 
^ been steadily plodding through the first in- 
stalment of twelve hundred books. It was dreary 
work and thankless. What author cares to see the 
fruit of his pen run through and through with an 
electric searchlight ? How few could pass the ordeal 
unscathed! And still it was necessary; truth re- 
quired it; no writer may wantonly corrupt the mind 
or the heart of a fellow-being; the interests of the 
soul are too many and too grave. 

The lesson had not yet gone home to many 
authors, as the work of the Revising Committee 
proved. Miss Garvey kept a record and found in 


the twelve hundred: — 

Positively unfit 39 

Corrupting in tendency 42 

Sneers against the Catholic Church 50 

Vilification of her clergy 21 

Works on Free Thought 9 

Expounding Mormonism 7 

False Views on Evolution 12 

The Church the Mother of Ignorance 15 

Inculcating Christian Science 10 

205 

Left to Father Sinclair’s decision 70 

147 


Burton Assists 


The seventy awaiting the pastor’s judgment were 
piled up on a separate table. The others were 
thrown into an obscure corner of the hall where 
only a glimmering of light could reach them. There 
they lay, two hundred of them, enemies of men’s 
minds and hearts. All that Art could do had been 
done to hide the tactics of those criminals against 
human society; but gaudy covers, gilt edges, elab- 
orate illustrations, could not save them from the 
fate that inevitably awaited them. 

‘‘I wonder whether our people will realize the 
great benefits of this work of revision,” said Father 
Sinclair, coolly, when he entered the room and read 
the list. “It is a good illustration of the need of a 
library where we may let our young people go and 
read wdthout fear of corrupting their minds and 
hearts. You see now, ladies, what we mean by 
controlling the reading of the masses. Did they do 
that kind of work at the Humboldt when you were 
there. Miss Garvey ? Do they do it at the Elzevir ?” 

“But look at all the books we must send back,” 
interrupted Clare Cayson. 

Father Sinclair frowned. “ Send back ? To 
continue their corrupting work in the minds of men ? 
How many thousand readers would those two 
hundred volumes have in the next two or three 
years? We shall not send them back. They are 
malefactors; and we shall put them where they will 
148 


At an ** Attto da Fc 


do no harm. They must be destroyed. Ladies, 
I invite you to an execution in the glebe-yard 
to-morrow, at three.” 

The object-lesson was too good to let slip by, and 
Burton was invited by telephone to call at the glebe- 
house the following afternoon. 

A dramatic scene presented itself in Father Sin- 
clair’s garden. The old sexton had placed three 
large flat stones on the hard snow. An armful of 
kindling wood was brought. Then the condemned 
books were carefully opened and piled so that the 
flames would take effect rapidly. 

Burton entered and took in the situation at a 
glance. 

“ Why, this is a repetition of the Spanish Inquisi- 
tion,” he exclaimed. 

“The same principle is at the bottom of it, Mr. 
Burton,” replied the pastor; “with a difference, 
however. We may bum books to prevent their 
doing harm. They carry their own errors with them 
to the stake, and end there. But with men we may 
reason. That is what our Church does; she tries 
to convince them of their errors.” 

“ And if they persist in them .?” urged Burton. 

“If they teach error in books, we keep on doing with 
the books what we are doing here. If men teach by 
the living voice, we forbid our people to listen to 
that voice. There is the whole thing in a nutshell.” 

149 


Btirton Assists 


“ But did not the Church ever do with men what 
you are doing with these books ? ” insisted the editor. 

“No, sir. That is a statement often made, but 
without sufficient discrimination. There was a time 
when men taught treason against civil as well as 
ecclesiastical authority, under plea of religion. These 
men were tried and condemned, and the enemies of 
the Church gave her the credit of the act. The 
doctrine of the Church and her authoritative voice 
are against the statement.” 

The truth was sinking gradually into the mind of 
Burton; for Father Sinclair was gratified to read 
the very next day in the Times a well- written and 
rather convincing article on “Controlhng Litera- 
ture,” the necessity of guarding the minds of 
untaught men from error, and an attack, sharply 
worded, on libraries that are lax in their censorship 
of books. It was a plea, unwittingly made, for the 
Roman Congregation of the Index, and an indirect 
panegyric of the new Free Library about to be 
opened in Laurenboro. 

“Burton is progressing favorably,” mused the 
pastor, that evening, as he took up the paper; “but 
he shall find rocks in his path before long. The 
tone of his prose will not suit some of our citizens, 
surely.” 

In this the pastor was right. Burton’s article 

let in a ray of light on the methods of one of the 
150 


At an “Auto da Fe ” 


most popular non-sectarian institutions in the city. 
The article in the Times was a direct thrust at the 
Elzevir, whose object — loudly proclaimed on every 
possible occasion — ^was the education of the public, 
but whose covert work was proselytism pure and 
simple. Hypocrisy ran rife there, and Burton 
thought the time had come to let the public know it. 

The effort, however, was going to create bitter 
feelings. Even library directors do not like to see 
their pet schemes frustrated; much less do they like 
to see their weaknesses held up in the glare of the 
public search-light. Pride and purse have too many 
sacrifices to make on such occasions to render sub- 
mission popular. 

The pastor was about to drop a note to Burton, 
to congratulate him on his articles, when the door- 
bell rang; and before Nanny could get her white 
apron adjusted, the editor himself came bounding 
up the stairs. 

“News for you. Father. The Elzevir people are 
up in arms against the Times. Read this letter that 
I have just received.” 

He handed the pastor the typewritten document. 
To the Editor : — 

The Directors of the Elzevir Library, in an assembly 
held this morning, have asked me to write to you to 
protest against the article in yesterday’s edition of your 
esteemed journal. They deem it inexpedient and 
against the welfare of the city that the sentiments you 
151 


Burton Assists 


are responsible for in that article should become 
current in Laurenboro. The Index you mention is but 
another name for the bloody Spanish Inquisition. It 
bridles free thought, prevents men from expressing 
their convictions in print to their fellow-men ; and 
furthermore it is the occasion of considerable pecuniary 
losses to those writers and publishers who go to the 
expense of printing and circulating their works. Why 
should any Church tell people what they must or must 
not read ? This letter is not for publication, but 
simply a polite note addressed to one who is supposed 
not merely to reflect but also to mould public opinion. 

Yours, etc., 

R. Kenneth Newell, Jr., Secretary, 
Newell!” exclaimed Father Sinclair. “That’s 
young Newell. When was he named to that 
position?” 

“Less than a month ago,” answered the editor. 
Do you recall the letter his father sent to the Times 
to protest against the new Library?” 

The pastor looked amazed. 

“That letter got the son the job,” continued 
Burton, “and two thousand dollars a year.” 

“The poltroons!” murmured the pastor, “who 
would sell their souls and their principles for two 
thousand a year.” 

“What answer should be made to this letter?” 
asked the editor. 

“It does not call for any answer, does it ?’ 

Father Sinclair took up the letter again and looked 
it over. 


152 


At an ** Attto da Fe 


“I shall have to acknowledge its receipt after 
some fashion.” 

“ I do not know what you ought to do; but for my 
part I should simply reply, ‘ Receipt of yours of 
yesterday acknowledged.’ ” 

“That is what I shall do. I consider that letter 
a bit of impertinence on the part of the directors 
of the Elzevir, and I shall find occasion to tell them 
so, in a short while. I know positively that they 
have books in circulation that they would not let 
their own children read; and I am going to score 
them for it.” 

“How are you advancing in the little volumes I 
gave you the other night .^” asked Father Sinclair, 
changing the subject. 

“Getting on famously. The marks of the true 
Church, the infallibility of the Church, her inde- 
fectibility, and so on — why, it is simple common 
sense applied to religion. Assuming that Christ 
established only one Church, the logic of your 
position is simply overpowering.” 

“That’s it,” interrupted Father Sinclair. “And 
if you admit that the Church cannot err, logic will 
carry you still further. Burton. Listen. Seeing 
that the Church cannot err — I insist on ‘cannot’ — all 
she teaches must be true. Is not that a fact ? ” 

“ Undoubtedly, it is,” admitted Burton. 

“And if the Church teaches what is true, and 
153 


Barton Assists 


truth is one, the innumerable sects, teaching con- 
tradictory doctrines, must be teaching falsehood.” 

“There is no getting out of it,” commented the 
editor. 

^‘And you belong to one of them?” persisted the 
pastor. 

“I fear I am caught, Father.” 

“ Of course, you are caught. Once you admit the 
infallible authority of the Church to teach, you must 
lay down your arms.” 

“Lay down my arms!” exclaimed Burton. 
“What should I take up to replace them?” 

“ A twopenny catechism, I fancy. You shall have 
occasion, one of these days, to witness the sacrifices 
our people can make for the sake of the truth. At 
this moment. Freemasonry is driving thousands of 
nuns out of France. I had a letter from the Arch- 
bishop asking me if I could find room for half a dozen 
Little Sisters of the Poor, who are coming to Lauren- 
boro to look after our aged and infirm.” 

“Freemasonry driving nuns out of France!” 
Burton looked at the priest, apparently surprised. 
“Your are striking home. Father. I have been a 
Mason for nearly twenty years, and my experience 
of Masonry does not justify assertions of that kind.” 

“ It is true just the same. Burton. The Masons in 
France acknowledge it themselves. They no longer 
hide their designs.” 


154 


At an ** Auto da Fc 


“There must be some delusion.” replied the 
editor, rather hotly; “Masonry has a record of good 
deeds. I would not belong to it were it otherwise.” 

“I believe you, Burton,” broke in the pastor, 
“ and I give you credit for that statement. You are 
not the stamp of man whom they admit to their 
inner councils. You are too frank a character to 
believe that what good is worth doing should be 
done in the dark.” 

“This is a novel point of view for me. Father. I 
admit I was never a very enthusiastic Mason. In 
fact, I have practically dropped out of Masonry. 
In my younger days, I joined for the sake of my 
journahsm; and I must confess my affiliation got me 
many a ‘scoop’ for my paper.” 

“No doubt,” answered Father Sinclair, “and 
what induced you to join the Lodge moves nine out 
of every ten of those who enter it. ‘What is there 
in it for me.^’ is the question that is uppermost in 
the mind of most would-be Masons. But you did 
not see then — and perhaps you do not see yet — that 
the heads of the sect use the multitude to shield them 
in the pursuit of aims which must bring about the de- 
struction of State and Church. Believe me. Burton, 
Freemasonry, in its higher degrees, is the concrete 
expression of anarchy and revolution. It makes 
its recruits publicly, but it makes its plans in secret. 
Its oath-bound conventions, its veiled commissions, 
155 


Barton Assists 


its initiation mummeries, indicate methods and aims 
from which honest men must naturally shrink.” 

“You seem to know something about Masonry, 
Father.” 

“ More than you think. Burton. Even if I did not, 
the fact that my Church condemns it would suffice 
for me. The test of her wide and long range of 
experience stands in this case, as in others, as an 
evidence and confirmation of her infallible discern- 
ment. But as a matter of fact, I have been studying 
the Masonic problem for years, and I have a rather 
large collection of works right here, treating of Dark- 
Lanternism.” 

Father Sinclair pointed to a whole shelf full of 
books devoted exclusively to the occult sect. 

“The latest addition to my collection is Shaeffer^s 
Monitorial Lectures, a work which has the practical 
endorsement of several Grand Lodges in the United 
States. I have been reading it carefully, and must 
confess that I hardly expected to find in such a 
narrow compass such a jumble of trash and mystical 
vaporings, evidently suited to half-educated candi- 
dates. How any man endowed with common sense 
can stand blindfolded during his initiation and listen 
to such prose, without splitting his sides, passes my 
understanding.” 

Burton smiled. 

“Let me give you a taste of this new production 
156 


At an “ Auto da Fe ” 


of your worshipful order,” said the priest, who 
opened the book and began to read : 

Geometry, the first and noblest of the sciences, is the 
basis on which the superstructure of Freemasonry is 
erected. By Geometry we may curiously trace nature 
through her various windings to her most concealed 
recesses. By it we discover the power, wisdom, and 
goodness of the Great Architect of the Universe, and view 
with delight the proportions which connect this vast 
machine. By it we discover how the planets move in 
their respective orbits and demonstrate their various revo- 
lutions. By it we account for the return of the seasons 
and the variety of scenes which each season displays to 
the discerning eye. Numberless worlds around us are 
framed by the same divine artist, which roll through the 
vast expanse and are all conducted by the same unerring 
law of nature. 

The impressive ceremonies of the second degree 
are calculated to inculcate upon the mind of the novice 
the importance of the study of the liberal arts and 
sciences, especially the noble science of Geometry, which 
forms the basis of Freemasonry, and which, being a 
divine and moral nature, is enriched with the most 
useful knowledge; for while it proves the wonderful 
proportions of nature, it demonstrates the more im- 
portant truths of morality. To the study of Geometry, 
therefore, your attention is directed. 

Father Sinclair closed the book. 

“ So you see, Burton,” he added, still holding 
the volume in his hand, “ Geometry rules the 
Masonic roost, doesn’t it ? Where does Christianity 
come in ? Just think what an elevating influence 
that half-scientific, half-allegoric jargon must have 
on the mind of the poor blindfolded novice who 
probably knows as much about geometry as an ox 
does about music. What must be his thoughts 

during the moments of initiation ! When he hears 

157 


Barton Assists 


the wonders of Solomon’s Temple described as it 
was completed and left by the Ancient and Accepted 
Geometricians; when he hears the Greek and 
Roman orders of architecture discussed; when he 
is urged to betake himself without delay to the 
study of the liberal arts and sciences — especially to 
the noblest of them all, Geometry — can under- 
stand the idiotic spell that comes over him, that 
makes him feel that he is drinking deep at the 
fountain of science. The feehng must be one of 
exhilaration surely. 

“These little stars. Burton, interspersed in the 
lectures, represent the physical initiation,” said the 
pastor, laughing and pointing to the pages. “They 
remind me of an experience of my own. In my 
student days, I assisted at a concert in a certain 
country town not a thousand miles from here. 
During the performance a terrific noise came from 
upstairs. The whole building shook, and the plaster 
from the ceiling tumbled down on our heads. The 
audience thought that an earthquake had come to 
visit them, and they rushed out of the building panic- 
stricken. Next day we learned, though everything 
was done to keep it secret, that the Masons or Odd 
Fellows, I have forgotten which, were initiating a 
new member. While he was symbolically climbing 
up to heaven on Jacob’s ladder, that ‘contraption’ 
broke down, and gravity landed the yet unethereal- 
158 


At an Auto da Fc ** 


ized adept back on to this vulgar planet of ours/’ 

‘‘Things are not all of that character in the Lodges, 
Father. There are some respectable names that 
grace the rolls of Masonry, which could hardly be 
accounted for if things were entirely as you describe 
them.” 

“That is one of your weaknesses,” retorted 
Father Sinclair, quickly. “I have often observed 
how tightly you Masons cling to the coat-tails of a 
prince or a duke, and how eagerly the Associated 
Press chronicles the fact that the Count of This and 
the Earl of That have received the degrees. I rarely 
read of one of those nabobs getting very high in the 
order; and — excuse me. Burton, for talking so 
plainly — the names of those aristocrats give ignoble 
sycophants a standing in certain circles they could 
not get otherwise.” 

“But you must admit,” said Burton, “certain 
advantages in Masonry. There is the insurance 
attached to it; the social features, and so on. There 
are several Catholics in the Lodge that I am attached 
to.” 

“So much the worse for them. Insurance is a 
good thing. But that should not be a bait alluring 
enough to tempt our people. No Catholic should 
risk the loss of faith for the sake of a few thousand 
dollars. When it comes to the question of insurance, 
we have our own Mutual Benevolents, our Foresters, 
159 


Burton Assists 


our Legions. And besides, what is wrong with the 
old-established companies which insure without 
absurd initiations or blood-curdling oaths Take 
my word for it, Burton, it is not the insurance that 
drags our Catholics into Masonry. It is rather 
the so-called mystery of the Lodge, the password, the 
grip, the dinners, the social sessions, the footing, 
the influence it is supposed to give with a certain 
class. There are some people who would wear a 
clown’s wig and breeches from end to end of Ash- 
burne Avenue, if they thought it would advance their 
worldly interests. Isn’t it ignoble.^” 

“I perceive. Father, that you have some veiy 
decided convictions on the question. And I am 
inclined to think that there is a grain of truth in 
them. But if the initiation ceremonies are so 
absurd, can you explain how clever men are taken 
in by them .5^” 

“As to that. Burton, I know for a fact — I have 
had it from Masons themselves, personal friends 
of mine — ^that the clever ones are let down easily in 
the mummeries of initiation. They are too useful 
to the fraternity to be antagonized on the threshold.” 

“ Do you think that the present King of Mesopo- 
gambia underwent the mummeries?” asked Burton, 
laughing. 

“I do not,” replied the pastor, decidedly. “He 
was not asked to climb Jacob’s ladder. But allow 
160 


At an ** Auto da Fe 


me to tell you that the gentleman in question knows 
as much about the ultimate aims of Freemasonry 
as Nanny does — and Nanny is my housekeeper. 
A crowned head is a fine peg to hang things on. It 
imparts an air of respectability to have an ex-Grand 
Master on a throne. 

“But leaving aside those considerations,” con- 
tinued Father Sinclair, who perceived that the time 
was passing, “this is not going to the root of 
things. We must judge a work by its results. The 
plea of brotherly charity in Masonry is only a blind. 
Charity should not be confined to a few thousand 
adepts bound together by oaths. We are all brothers 
when it comes to helping one another. There 
should be no Greek, or Jew, or Roman, to dis- 
criminate against. That is one of the fundamental 
tenets of Christianity. And we do not need Masonry 
to teach us charity, nor are we allowed to take 
blasphemous oaths to practice it. I am inclined to 
take a broad view of things. Burton. God knows 
how to draw good out of the scandalous actions of 
men. In a sense, I consider this Masonic perse- 
cution in France a providential thing. At the 
present moment, thousands of men and women, 
prepared by years of self-abnegation for the ministry 
of the schoolroom and the sick-bed — a true ministry. 
Burton, if ever there was one — are suddenly exiled 
to foreign lands. What else can they do but spread 
161 


Burton Assists 


the sweet odor of Christ around them ? It is hard 
to be an exile, even for one who, in his fatherland, 
has risen above the attractions of home and country. 
But the slow martyrdom of exile only shows up the 
beauty, and the fruitfulness, and the strength of 
the Catholic Church. Almighty God can water the 
seeds of Christianity with tears as well as with blood. 
It was the dispersion of the Irish race that brought 
the Catholic Faith to many lands; and was it not 
the influx of the French exiles into England during 
the great Revolution that gave to English Catholicism 
its ‘second spring ?* 

“It is to an apostate and his Masonic colleagues 
that we are indebted for the Little Sisters of the 
Poor who are coming here to Laurenboro. And 
for that I thank them. Wait, Burton, till you see 
the Little Sisters at work. I am expecting an answer 
from Newell.’* 

“ And if Newell will not let you have that building 
free?” asked Burton. 

“We shall have to pay, or go elsewhere; that’s 
all. I do not know the financial condition of the 
exiles. But they are coming very likely without 
sack or scrip.” 

The editor pondered a moment. 

“Should you care to see the Times comment on 
the coming of the Little Sisters ?” he asked. 

“With moderation. Burton. No harm in giving 
162 


At an '' Atito da Fe 


lacts. It will enlist sympathj^ and soften things. 
But no spasms; no fireworks, please.” 

Burton promised to use tact in the affair. He 
left the glebe-house without telling the pastor what 
he intended to do if Newell refused to give his house 
on Wellington Avenue rent-free to the Sisters. He 
simply asked him to let him know by telephone 
the result of the request. 

This visit of Burton gave Father Sinclair great 
satisfaction. Here was a clever man submitting his 
reason to the evidences of truth. It was not sentiment 
or passing fancy that had moved the editor of the 
Times to make a friend and counsellor of the pastor 
of St. Paul’s. Burton had a sound head on his 
shoulders. And to think that a few remarks of 
Professor Flume on the Roman Index was the 
occasion of this evening’s long conversation on such 
vital matters. What strange ways God employs 
to bring people nearer His Church ! 

The course of the Newells in regard to the Elzevir 
Library nettled the pastor. He could find no term 
to characterize such lack of principle. But he was 
not surprised. He had known the head of the 
family ever since he came to Laurenboro, ten years 
before, as one who avoided him, as one in fact 
who did not care to be seen in his company. 
Never had the Newells called at the glebe-house; 
never had they taken active part in any movement 
163 


Burton Assists 


for the advancement of Catholic interests. He re- 
called the elder Newell’s polite refusal to preside 
once at a school entertainment. He should not now 
be surprised if he refused to let the Little Sisters have 
the building on Wellington Avenue. And still the 
Newells had their pew in St. Paul’s and were at 
church every Sunday. 

How justly Father Sinclair had gauged the situa- 
tion became evident when a District Messenger 
handed him the following note, less than an hour 
after Burton had left: — 

Reverend Sir : — 

Your letter in re building on Wellington Avenue received, 
and contents noted. I regret to say that for reasons 
that your Reverence may not appreciate, I cannot allow 
any house of mine to become the abode of people who, 
as far as I can learn, have not seen fit to obey the 
laws of their own nation, and who are posing before 
the world as exiles. Besides, hospitals and homes are 
already plentiful enough to meet the demands of the 
poor in this city; and I shall use my influence to . , . 

Father Sinclair threw the letter into the fire; he 
was deeply mortified. But with characteristic energy 
he telephoned to Burton that Newell, for reasons 
known to himself, had refused the building, and 
that he was going to interview the agents of the 
Helerand Estate. 

It was evident that Newell had been drawn into 
the enemy’s camp. The directors of the Elzevir 
164 


At an ^^Anto da Fe ** 


were becoming alarmed. They feared a secession of 
Catholic patronage, and as a sop had offered the 
secretaryship to young Newell at two thousand a 
year. Nothing could have shown more clearly how 
just had been the position the pastor of St. Paul’s had 
taken. 

He resolved more than ever to use every means 
to make the Laurenboro Free Library a success. It 
was God’s work, and God would provide. 


1^5 



% 



CHAPTER XIV 


Miss Garvey Leads On to Success 

T he work on the library hall was advancing 
rapidly, and Father Sinclair decided to have 
the inauguration in a week’s time. He invited 
Mayor Bruce, Maglundy, the Melgroves, the librari- 
ans, and several of the leading citizens to coffee and 
cake in the spacious hall; he was determined to give 
the new venture a dignified start. 

The ensuing five days were fully occupied. Ap- 
pleby, the undertaker, had put in the book-shelves 
free of charge. Five librarians, with Miss Garvey as 
their chief, had numbered and stamped the approved 
volumes, and pasted in the rules for the guidance of 
readers. When the end of the week came they were 
tired. 

The devotedness of Miss Garvey and her assistants 
was inspiring. More than once Father Sinclair 
declared that he was delighted with their inde- 
fatigable zeal; that with the aid of such co-workers 
he had nothing to fear for the future of the Library. 
The chief librarian was an energetic little woman. 
The inner gearing of a public library was perfectly 
167 


Miss Garvey Leads 

familiar to her. She had decided to employ a simple 
card system to keep track of the books. 

To attain this end she reasoned that a librarian 
needs an answer to three questions only: \\ho has 
the book ? Where does he live ? When did he take it 
out ? The heavy squares of card-board — dummies, 
she called them — which replaced the absent volumes 
on the shelves would tell her all that, and would 
simplify things greatly. She was a thorough-going 
manager. While she provided against the danger 
of mislaid books, the bane of every public library, 
she safeguarded the interests of her patrons as well. 
She supplied every reader with a printed card, w^hich 
served as a book-mark. On one side were written 
the reader’s name and his registration number. On 
the other, there were three blank columns, with 
their respective headlines. Book-number — Lent — 
Returned. No one could get a volume from the 
Laurenboro Free Library without previously secur- 
ing a card; an operation which made every new 
reader pass by the Registration Desk, where the 
ordinary money deposit was made to secure the 
library against any possible loss. When the book 
passed out over the Delivery Desk, the number and 
date were stamped on the card in their respective 
columns; when the volume was returned, the date 
was stamped in the “returned” column likewise. 
The simple method furnished a receipt for the re- 
168 


On to Success 


turned book, and provided the reader with a safe- 
guard against mistakes of librarians. 

While these preliminaries were being carried out, 
the pastor paid frequent visits to the library hall. 

“That card system is pretty complete. Miss 
Garvey; but supposing a reader does not bring back 
a volume within the time limit ? ” 

“We give him three days’ grace,” she replied 
quickly, “then we send him one of these printed 
Overtime Cards, informing him that Book No. 
so-and-so is overdue, and at the same time politely 
remind him of the engagements contracted when he 
signed the Registration Folio.” 

“But even then, supposing he persists in his 
neglect ?” 

“Then we send a messenger after him, and add 
car-fare to the fine.” 

“But suppose that the messenger arrives at the 
address, and finds that no such person ever lived 
there.?” 

Miss Garvey was not going to be caught. “You 
mean. Father, when readers wilfully give wrong 
addresses .?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Then we call on the pastor and ask him to preach 
a strong sermon on lying and stealing. But,” she 
added, “we can guard against such contingencies 
by appointing a wide-awake registration clerk, and 


M(ss Garvey Leads 


insisting on the filling in of the Recommendation 
Blanks. If all these precautions fail, and we still 
lose books, we must look for the source of the evil 
not in our library methods, but in the perversity 
of the human race.” 

Miss Garvey’s years of experience in the Hum- 
boldt had made her a valuable acquisition, and her 
suggestions were listened to by Father Sinclair with 
deference. 

“ Father, it will not do to put the children’s books 
on the large shelves. We must have a cection apart 
for the little ones. They are so hard to please. A 
child will sometimes take half an hour to choose a 
book; and the ‘grown-ups’ would soon complain.” 

“That has been my experience, too,” said Father 
Sinclair; “and as Miss Garvey is chief Hbrarian, she 
may do things to suit herself.” 

“And the lady in charge of the Children’s Section 
must have lots of patience,” continued the chief. 

“ Choose your staff,” insisted the pastor. 

“ And the one who is to check books must be quick 
at jotting down figures.” 

“ That is what I say, too,” commented the pastor. 

“And no book should leave the library except 
over the Checking Desk.” 

“That is business,” he added. 

“And no book must be received by the assistants 
before it has been checked at the Receiving Desk.” 

170 


On to Stjccess 


“ As you please,” continued Father Sinclair. 

This free hand pleased the little lady exceedingly; 
but, all the same, she desired the pastor’s sanction 
for her innovations. That is why she insisted on 
mentioning them all. 

On the eve of the opening she presented her 
assistants to Father Sinclair, giving each her official 
title. Every little detail had been thought out and 
provided for when the hour for the formal inaugu- 
ration arrived. The books, neat and clean, were in 
their places. After a little coaxing the old sexton 
was prevailed upon to lend some of his decorations 
and small banners to hide a few incongruities on the 
walls and pillars. The place was ready for business. 

Strange to say, Silas Maglundy was the first to 
arrive at the hall next day. Father Sinclair received 
him and turned him over to Miss Garvey, whom he 
recognized and saluted. The chief in turn intro- 
duced her assistants, and then took him to the 
different sections and explained the system she had 
adopted for the delivery and return of books. The 
children’s comer greatly interested the old million- 
aire; he asked innumerable questions about the 
tastes of children, and the kind of books they mostly 
called for. 

“Would you believe it. Miss Garvey,” he mur- 
mured at last, “it was the reading of a book of 
adventures that changed my whole career in fife? 

171 


Miss Garvey Leads 


When I was a child, a book on the Rocky Mountains 
and California turned my mind to the West; and I 
have no doubt that had I not read it I should never 
have gone there.” 

This was interesting to Miss Garvey; she hoped 
he would come often and make a selection of reading 
matter. He surely found time heavy on his hands 
in that great lonely mansion on Howarth and Buell 
Streets. 

“Very heavy, very heavy, indeed,” assented 
Maglundy. 

It was the arrival of the Mayor and a party of 
guests that called the chief away, and cut short 
what promised to be an interesting conversation 
for both. 

Miss Garvey did the honors that day. She was 
in charge, and Father Sinclair, after a few pre- 
liminary remarks, turned the visitors over to her. 
After explaining the scope and organization of 
the library — ^the little lady had the gracious gift of 
speech — she invited them to luncheon which was 
ready in an alcove hard-by. Hot coffee and cake 
were served, and no one seemed to enjoy the visit 
more than Mayor Bruce and Maglundy. The 
Mayor, in a few well-chosen words, expressed his 
delight at what he had seen and heard from the 
chief librarian. He had not the slightest doubt that 
the hbrary was destined to do a world of good 
172 


On to Success 


among the people, not merely of the Church under 
whose auspices it Avas started, but also among those 
of other denominations. He was a believer in good 
literature, in books that parents could with a safe 
conscience let their little ones read. He knew the 
influence books wield on the minds of a population; 
and he did not think that Laurenboro could have 
too much of a good thing. As for himself, he would 
ask Miss Garvey to put his name down as one of 
the patrons of the new Free Library; she might 
expect to see his children among her customers — 
and perhaps himself. 

When this delicate little speech had been ap- 
plauded as it deserved, calls for Maglundy were 
heard in various parts of the hall. But the old 
man was seen whispering to Father Sinclair who 
stood up and said: — 

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Maglundy asks me 
to say that a severe bronchial trouble prevents him 
from gratifying you this afternoon. However, he 
also desired me to state that this visit has given 
him great pleasure, and that he should be pleased 
to have his name placed beside that of Mayor 
Bruce as a patron of the Laurenboro Free Library; 
and that he intends to be one of the chief librarian’s 
most assiduous customers.” 

These remarks were greeted with tremendous 
applause, which pleased Maglundy. Father Sinclair, 
173 


Miss Garvey Leads 


who had not sat down, then turned to the Mayor 
and continued, 

“Mr. Mayor, permit me to thank you for the 
delicate tribute you have paid to our undertaking, 
and for the patronage you have extended to us. I 
feel that the Library could not begin under more 
favorable auspices; nor could it be entrusted to 
better hands. The devotedness of Miss Garvey 
and her assistants, known to only a few of us as yet, 
will become more evident as the months roll on. I 
have only one word to add; it is this: the Lauren- 
boro Library has not been begun to antagonize 
any existing institutions in this city. We have been 
getting our books together simply to fill a gap in 
the facilities for the education of our own people. 
And in so doing we feel we are within our rights as 
citizens and as Catholics.” 

“Hear, hear!” was heard from all sides. 

The company then dispersed. A number of 
books were taken out by the visitors. But history 
will record the fact that the first name on the Regis- 
tration Folio, secured by Miss Garvey, was that of 
Silas Maglundy; and the first book taken out was 
K-531 — The Wooing of Silas. The sight of his 
own name in print tickled the old man. It was 
Miss Garvey herself who had selected for him the 
volume. 

When Father Sinclair returned to his study, a 
174 


On to Success 


note was waiting for him, the perusal of which 
gave him great pain. It was from the Melgroves. 

Reverend and dear Father : — 

I regret so much that I cannot go to the opening 
this afternoon. Little Helen is a very sick child, and I 
dare not leave her. Mr. Melgrove is in the Provinces. 

I am really anxious. 

Yours, etc., 

Eleanor Melgrove. 

The pastor was preparing to go over to the Mel- 
groves when Burton walked in. He was looking 
for a report of the inauguration for the Times of the 
following day, and a synopsis of the Mayor’s speech, 
and Maglundy’s. 

‘‘Maglundy did not speak,” said Father Sinclair. 
“ I replaced him. He complained of a severe bron- 
chial trouble.” 

Burton laughed outright. 

“That’s what the old dad did the other night at 
the Davenport Club. I must scorch him again 
about his bronchial tubes.” 

“Burton, you shall not do anything of the kind. 
That old man is thawing out. He has an excellent 
heart. I am beginning to understand him. You 
will find him yet one of Laurenboro’s best citizens. 
Don’t crush him.” 

“But his intolerable arrogance urged the editor. 

“True, he flew pretty high in the beginning. 

But that article of yours the other day had a sobering 
175 


Miss Garvey Leads 


effect on him. He has been a different man since. 
Now, let him alone, won’t you ?” 

Burton promised. 

“How is the two penny Catechism getting on.^” 

“ Got as far as Original Sin,” answered the editor, 
smiling. “ But I am going right through with it. We 
are busy in the office these days; so many functions 
to write up. However, I will go through with it.” 

“Very well. And when any difficulties turn up, 
do not pass them by. Just note them and bring 
them to me. Mayor Bruce made an excellent speech 
at the opening this afternoon. He is a patron of 
the Free Library, and so is Maglundy. Put that 
in the Times.'" 

“I will, indeed. Bruce has great tact. That is 
the secret of his popularity. He is sure of a second 
term. Would it be prudent, though, to put him in 
the Times as patron of the new Catholic Library.? 
It might be used against him as a missile by the 
rabble at the next election.” 

“That’s for Mayor Bruce to decide,” answered 
Father Sinclair. 

The editor bade the pastor good night. The latter 
telephoned to the Melgroves that he would call in 
the morning. As he retired that evening, he could 
not help thinking that the library scheme was 
advancing pretty well. But he had only a thousand 
books on the shelves. 


m 


CHAPTER XV 


The Passing of Little Helen 


FTER Mass, the following morning, Father 



-TX Sinclair started out to see Helen. He met 
the physician, who passed over to him from the 
other side of the street. 

“I fear the Melgroves am going to lose their 
little daughter. She cannot possibly recover. I wish 
you would call and prepare them. The husband 
has not got back yet, and Mrs. Melgrove is desolate.” 

“I am going over now,” answered the priest. 
“How long may the child live?” 

“A few hours at most.” 

Here was a duty which went hard with Father 
Sinclair — ^to tell a mother that her only daughter, 
in whom all her love was centered, was about to be 
taken from her. In the long years of his priestly 
ministry he had often this duty to perform, but it 
was never a welcome one. The sorrows of others 
moved him deeply, and it was always with regret 
that he entered a home where Death was waiting 
to enter after him. He knew he could not tell Mrs. 
Melgrove that she should not let her tears flow — 
a mother’s tears cannot be stifled at a simple bid- 


177 


The Passing of 


ding — but he could speak to her of the will of God, 
and how, when that Supreme Will is known, we 
must bend our heads, even when we clasp our hearts 
to keep them from breaking. Had she not, with 
her motherly affection, a love of God that would 
strengthen her to make the sacrifice ? 

There was silence and gloom in the large house. 
The shades were lowered; even the maid who 
opened the door for him spoke in a whisper. It 
was evident that the Angel of Death was hovering 
over the threshold, waiting to take the child with 
him to the home of the angels beyond the clouds. 

“I am so glad you have come. Helen is very 
low,” said the mother, taking the pastor’s hand. 
“ I don’t think she can recover, and I am so desolate.” 
She gave free vent to the tears she could not suppress. 

“Have you wired for Mr. Melgrove.?” the priest 
asked. 

“We cannot reach him. Three telegrams have 
gone since last night. He should have been back 
two days ago. I know he is anxious; for the child 
was ailing when he left the city.” 

“Strange he cannot be found,” mused Father 
Sinclair. 

“ Will you step up to see her ? And, Father, won’t 
you give the dear child your blessing?” 

Father Sinclair went upstairs to where Helen was 
sleeping. The room was quite dark. But when he 
178 


Little Helen 


entered, he heard a gentle moaning. The curtains 
were partially drawn, and there in a tiny cot lay the 
little girl whose days, yea, hours, were numbered. 

“ What a happy child after all,” thought the priest, 
as he gazed on the sleeping form, “and how many 
sorrows and trials she is going to escape.” 

Then turning to the mother, Father Sinclair, in 
accents that bespoke the man of God feeling with a 
human heart, said: 

“ Mrs. Melgrove, I deeply feel with you the con- 
dition of poor Helen; but if our dear Lord should call 
her, you are ready, I am sure, to make the sacrifice.” 

“If it is God’s will. His will is mine. Father. 
But it is so hard to part with her.” 

And the tears began to flow afresh. 

“ Be brave. Offer the little angel to God. Think 
of heaven and all its joys, whither the dear child is 
going so soon.” 

A sigh of pain, and the tiny blue eyes opened. 

“Daddy; where is daddy?” murmured the child, 
almost inaudibly. 

“He will be here soon. He is thinking of you, 
darling,” answered the broken-hearted mother. 
“Father Sinclair has come to see you.” 

A little hand, frail as a linnet’s wing, tried to 
extricate itself; but the priest replaced the coverlet, 
and the faintest shadow of a smile stole over the 
cheek of Helen. 


179 


The Passing of 


Father Sinclair bent down. 

“Do you want my blessing, Helen?” he asked 
softly, almost in a whisper. 

The blue eyes opened intelligently, and then 
closed again. 

The pastor made the sign of the cross over the 
dying child, and in a silent prayer asked the angels 
to take the innocent soul to live with them. He then 
started to leave the house. 

Miss Garvey was running up the steps. 

“ Father Sinclair, I have been hunting for you all 
over. How shall w^e ever break the news? Mr. 
Burton has just had a despatch from the Provinces. 
There has been a wreck and several killed. He fears 
Melgrove is of the number. What shall we do to 
break the news?” 

“We must first see if that news is confirmed,” 
answered the priest, calmly. “I will see Burton at 
once. Do not mention it to Mrs. Melgrove, please.” 

He went quickly down to the Times office, his 
mind a prey to many conflicting emotions. Not 
since he reached Laurenboro had such a pathetic 
episode been thrust under his notice. Many and 
many a time in the past ten years the shadow of the 
Infinite had darkened the homes of his people and 
had aroused his priestly sympathies. But there 
are circumstances that intensify even home sorrows 
and a pastor’s attitude toward them. This was 
180 


Little Helen 


evidently one of them. His friendship for the stricken 
family made him share its sorrow all the more deeply. 
How was he to act ? 

Burton was at his desk when the pastor entered 
the office. 

“Bad news from the Provinces, Father. Our 
friend Melgrove is seriously hurt. Just had another 
despatch. He’ll be here to-morrow at ten.” 

“But this is dreadful,” broke in Father Sinclair. 
“Poor Mrs. Melgrove had already enough to bear; 
her only child is dying. How are we going to break 
the news to her?” 

The pastor stood for a moment completely at a 
loss how to act. He left Burton in as great a quan- 
dary as himself and returned to the glebe-house. 

A telegram was awaiting him from the injured man. 

Home to-morrow. Slightly hurt in smash-up. Break 
news to wife gently. Anxious about Helen. 

Melgrove. 

Here was a way out of the difficulty. The news 
might have been worse after all. He would break 
it gently, and he started to return to the sick-home. 
He met Miss Garvey at the door. 

“She fears something has happened to Mr. 
Melgrove.” 

“ Mr. Melgrove is hurt, but not badly. I have 
just had a despatch from him.” 

The priest hurried upstairs. 

181 


The Passing of 


“Father, something must have happened to my 
husband. I cannot explain his silence,’’ said the 
careworn wife, coming to meet him. 

“He’ll be here to-morrow, at ten. There was a 
slight accident and he got a few bruises, that’s all. 
He’ll be here to-morrow. He did not want to distress 
you further. He knows you have trouble enough 
just now. He’ll be here to-morrow, at ten.” 

“Oh that he may arrive to find Helen alive!” she 
exclaimed. 

The thought that her little daughter might die 
before her husband reached home nearly drove her 
frantic. 

That night was a long and weary one for Mrs. 
Melgrove. The wind moaning in the trees outside, 
and the fitful gusts that now and then struck the 
window-panes startled her. She was physically 
exhausted. The sleepless hours she had passed 
at the bedside of her sick child had told on her own 
self; and the added anxiety that things might be 
'svorse than represented in the despatch to Father 
Sinclair made her condition a pitiable one indeed. 

Miss Garvey determined to stay the night vdth 
her, and at midnight insisted on her taking a few 
hours’ rest. The stricken wife and mother retired 
to her room, not to sleep, but to fall on her knees 
and pray to God for strength to bear the trials that 

were pressing upon her. She was in that position 
182 


Little Helen 


and fast asleep when the maid found her at dawn. 

Helen’s state grew worse. The breathing was 
rapid and shallow; the faint pulse had almost 
ceased to beat. The child seemed to rest, however. 
Shortly after nine o’clock, a quick spasm, followed 
by a relaxing of the muscles, told those present that 
the little soul had flown to Paradise. When the 
whole truth revealed itself, the mother’s first act, 
heroic in its simplicity, was to kneel down by her 
departed child, and in an accent full of resignation, 
to murmur, “My God, Thy will be done!” 

A few minutes later an ambulance drove to the 
doors, and she went downstairs to take up another 
cross, she knew not yet how heavy. 

Melgrove was carried into the house on a stretcher 
and laid on a lounge. His first words were: “How 
is Helen He was gently told that she had just 
left this world; and the brave Catholic gentleman 
closed his eyes and said: “My God, Thy will be 
done.” 

The will of God had ever been the inspiration of 
that truly Christian family. The crosses that were 
now pressing so heavily upon it only made that more 
evident. Trials and tribulations are marks of 
God’s love for us — and the Melgroves knew it well. 
There was no rebellion in the heart of either; a 
resignation admirable in its completeness succeeded 
the first tears of grief. 


183 


The Passing 


There was a sad procession the morning little 
Helen was laid away on the hillside. During her 
short career, and even while her life was ebbing 
away, her gracious, coy ways had endeared the 
child to all who knew her. And the affectionate 
sympathy that went out to the sorrowing parents at 
their loss was deep and strong. If the sympathy of 
friends could restore to us our idols, what a happy 
world this would be! A grave under a willow-tree 
in the frozen ground received the angel of the 
Melgrove household. An hour later a fall of snow, 
emblem of the innocence of the little one lying 
beneath, came to complete the work of the gger, 
and blotted out for a time even the spot where the 
child was at rest. 

Melgrove grew stronger as the days went by; he 
soon regained his old-time interest in things. But 
his convalescence was bound to be slow. His internal 
injuries were far more serious than had been thought 
at first, and it might be many weeks before he 
should be able to leave his room. Father Sinclair 
was a daily visitor. The ties that bound the pastor 
and this faithful member of his flock grew stronger, 
and the priestly sympathy shown the sick man was 
answered by the affection of a noble heart. 


184 


CHAPTER XVI 


The Free Library Begins its Career 

OO many events had been crowded into the last 
^ few days that the week went by before Father 
Sinclair noticed it. The Sunday following the 
destruction of the books and the burial of little 
Helen, there was a change in the programme at 
St. Paul’s. As usual, the nine o’clock Mass was 
crowded. The pastor did not like this. Many a 
time he had spoken from the altar of the obligation 
there was of now and then assisting at the more 
solemn celebration of the Holy Sacrifice. He brought 
pressure to bear in various quarters. He insisted 
on the teachers instructing the children in this 
matter in the parish schools, thus indirectly reaching 
the parents. He even intimated that he would give 
longer sermons at nine o’clock unless they came to 
the late Mass more generally. 

In order to draw his people to the eleven o’clock 
Mass, he did his utmost to surround the function 
with every solemnity. A chosen choir rendered 
with devotional effect the beautiful old chants and 
harmonized Masses; and he usually had a stranger, 
a brother priest from one of the city parishes, some- 
185 


The Free Library 


times a travelling Passionist or Franciscan, to 
deliver telling sermons. Many non-Catholics came 
every Sunday to the High Mass, drawn thither by 
the solemnity of the service as well as by the elo- 
quence of the speakers. But not a few of the parish- 
ioners, satisfied with the strict obligation of assisting 
at a Low Mass, remained at home. 

The present Sunday was an exception. The 
Advent season had stripped St. Paul’s of its usual 
decorations. The absence of flowers and other 
artificial trappings gave a subdued tone to the 
Gothic outlines of the chancel, which, in the minds 
of many, greatly improved it — Gothic does not lend 
itself to decoration. But it had been announced in 
the TimeSy the day previous, that a Redemptorist 
Father, still remembered in Laurenboro, where he 
had preached a mission seven years before, was pass- 
ing through the city and had consented to deliver 
a sermon. 

Even before half-past ten the pews were comfort- 
ably filled, many present being from the outside 
denominations who recalled the tremendous truths 
they had heard so many years ago, falling from that 
eloquent tongue. 

Punctually at eleven o’clock, the altar boys, in 
their neat gowns and cottas, began to file out on 
both sides of the high altar. They met at the middle 
of the sanctuary, bent the knee, and retired to their 
186 


Begins its Career 


stalls. Then came the servers, followed by Father 
Sinclair. Mass was begun. 

During the chanting of the Gospel, the Redemp- 
torist, in his simple black cassock, with beads 
dangling from his girdle, walked slowly out from 
behind the altar, and ascended the pulpit. All 
eyes recognized Father Golworth, now grown quite 
gray, and when he began his sermon, the same 
powerful voice, the same convincing logic, the same 
soul-stirring pathos, that had held St. Paul’s spell- 
bound seven years before, was soon echoing through 
its arches. 

He had not been spealdng more than five minutes 
when a shujffling up the main aisle attracted the 
attention of the people. The old sexton was leading 
Silas Maglundy to the third pew from the top. 
Silas glanced around him when he entered it. He 
did not know that every eye was centered on him — 
even the preacher’s. He bowed to Miss Garvey, 
whom he recognized sitting immediately behind 
him. Apparently, he was absolutely unconscious 
of anything unseemly in coming to Mass so late; 
he subsided into his seat, and then turned his eyes 
up to the pulpit. 

It was a powerful sermon on justice, and on the 
obligation of restitution of gains unjustly acquired. 
The preacher entered into details. He told his 

audience how some men lull themselves into a false 
187 


The Free Library 


security, and imagine they can, by great benefactions 
or public services, atone for injustice done to private 
individuals. During half an hour he held his hearers’ 
attention ; Maglundy never took his eyes off him. 

When the preacher stepped down, the worshippers 
fixed their eyes on the altar ; Maglundy did likewise. 
The soul-inspiring strains of the Credo roused him, 
and he turned in his seat to stare at the choir. He 
caught the eye of Miss Garvey, who quietly looked 
at him as if reproving his levity. The lesson was 
heeded ; for during the rest of the service he did not 
look around. He followed the movements of the 
worshippers near him, even kneeling on one knee 
during the Elevation. On the whole, it was a good 
beginning. After Mass he walked slowly down the 
aisle, got into his sleigh, which was waiting for him, 
and drove home. 

“ Who was that stout old gentleman who came up 
the aisle during the sermon?” asked Father Gol- 
worth, at dinner that day. 

“His name is Maglundy, one of my lambs,” 
answered the pastor. 

“ Maglundy— not Silas Maglundy, the wealthy 
California miner?” 

“ Precisely.” 

“Well, my remarks must have gone home,” added 
the missioner. “Maglundy has left a reputation 

behind him among the miners. Unless he straightens 
188 


Begins its Career 


up things with an old partner of his, he’ll not leave 
California if he ever goes there again. Miners have 
a way of doing things in a hurry that hurts.” 

Father Sinclair thought he already knew some- 
thing of the deal, and he did not press for further 
information. 

“Is the old man as vain as ever.^” asked the 
missioner. 

“ He has shown tendencies in that direction, since 
he came here, but the press is knocking it out of 
him.” 

“ Out in San Jacinto, where I gave a mission two 
years ago,” continued Father Golworth, “he wanted 
to erect a fountain where for six months of the year 
there isn’t a spring running, or a drop of water 
falling from the heavens. The citizens were about 
to tar-and-feather him.” 

“But he has changed since he came to Lauren- 
boro,” interposed the pastor. “We are going to 
train him. The trouble is we did not catch him 
quite young enough. But we are going to train him 
for all that.” 

And Father Sinclair laughed heartily. 

The opening of the Library to the public was 
announced for that afternoon, and the first day was 
to be reserved for children exclusively. At three 
o’clock the little readers crowded in from various 

Sunday-schools. Big ones and little ones, quiet ones 
189 


The Free Library 


and roguish ones, came tumbling in over one another, 
raising such a disturbance in the long passage that 
the chief librarian had to appear in person. 

When they all entered the hall and saw the shelves 
of new books — such a tempting feast — there was a 
momentary hush. But it was only momentar}\ 
The novelty of the situation — a library day exclu- 
sively for them — was too much for their youthful 
enthusiasm; the din became deafening. All the 
chief could do was to point to the “ Silence” placards 
hanging around the wall. But she might as well 
have tried to stem the torrent of the Brono. 

The beginnings were attended with more or less 
disorder. Miss Garvey set two assistants instead of 
one to register names ; and that disarranged her plans. 
She did not expect such a number of children the 
first day; and with all her foresight she admitted 
that she was not prepared for them. She was busy 
straightening out a few unruly youngsters when 
Father Sinclair arrived on the scene — an arrival that 
was a signal for peace. 

“Here’s de Fader, lads; cheese it,” said the leader. 
In a moment there was a silence as of the tomb. 

“Well, Father Sinclair,” said the chief, “how did 
you manage it?” 

“ I do not know. They must be afraid of me. Do 
I look very fierce?” 

“I do not mean that.” 


190 


Begins its Career 


“Well what do you mean?” he inquired, smiling. 

“How did you manage to get Mr. Maglundy to 
Mass this morning?” 

“Are not all Catholics bound to go to Mass on 
Sundays, unless lawfully exempted?” 

Miss Garvey knew that this was as far as she 
could get, and proceeded immediately to suggest 
means of dealing with the motley crowd of young 
readers. She had decided to put up a long barrier, 
wliich should let in only three boys at a time to the 
Receiving Desk. Father Sinclair promised her that 
the improvement should be made before the following 
Sunday. 

It was a consoling spectacie to witness the tiny 
sea of faces looking ravenously at the backs of the 
new books, straining their little necks in their en- 
deavor to read the titles, and freely giving their 
commentaries on the contents. 

“ O dat’s no good, dat book. I read it,” said one, 
looking at a gaudily-bound volume. “ It’s all about 
a feller wot jumped into de water to grab anoder 
feller wot was goin’ to get drowned.” 

“Wot’s dis one? Boy's Adventures in the 
Arctic.' All about de polar bears and de whales, 
I s’pose. May I take dis one. Miss ?” 

“ Let me have your card,” said the librarian. 

The yellow card was handed over to the assistant ; 
the number of the book and the date were stamped 
191 


The Free Library 


thereon; the boy got the book and away he went. 

“Got any of de ‘Breechloader Novels/ Miss?” 
asked a little red-head of ten. 

“No, sir.” 

“We can get ’em over at de Elvizeer.” 

“Well, you cannot get any here; that’s all, sonny.” 

“ Say, fellers,” exclaimed a dozen, “ de loidy called 
Jake sonny.” 

And there was a titter all round. 

“ Here is a nice book for you — The Cliff-Dweller' s 
Secret ' — a boy’s story.” 

“I’ll take dat.” And he got it. 

When he was leaving the hall, the others began 
to cry after him, “Hello, sonny; hello, sonny! ” 

“Got any more like the one you gave Jake?” 
inquired a third. 

“Yes, plenty; here is ‘ The Aztec Prince'" 

“I’ll take dat.” 

“Got anoder, Miss?” 

This clatter was kept up unceasingly for two hours 
in the five different sections; so that when the time 
for closing came, four of the juvenile shelves were 
absolutely emptied. 

The first day was ended with a register of one 
hundred and thirty books given out, together with the 
names and addresses of those who had taken them. 

Miss Garvey insisted on the training of the children 
well from the outset. The library rules were printed 
192 


Begins its Career 


on the long yellow cards, which each reader carried 
home; and they had to be observed, or she would 
know the reason why. Altogether the first day was 
a success. When the chief and her assistants com- 
pared notes, it was decided that the Children’s 
Section should be extended, and more books secured. 

The following Wednesday they had to meet again 
to cater to another element. This was the day for 
the “grown-ups.” Shortly after three, the readers 
began to arrive, passed by the Registration Desk, 
scanned the catalogues, asked for their numbers, 
had their cards stamped, picked up their books, and 
left. The registration and delivery proceeded as 
smoothly as clockwork, but after an hour or so, 
great gaps began to appear on the shelves. It was 
with regret that the assistants had to tell many 
readers that the volumes they called for were out. 
They realized more than ever that a fresh supply 
must be provided if readers were to be held. 

The day was nearly ended when the door opened 
and Silas Maglundy walked in with K — 531 under 
his arm. Miss Garvey was the first to greet him. 
Silas, with a broad smile, said that he had enjoyed 
the wooing of his namesake very much indeed, and 
wanted to exchange. The catalogue was handed 
to him. He wrote down on a bit of paper, K — 23, 
F — 146, G — 75, C — 76, intimating that any one of 
the four would do. 


193 


The Free Library 


Miss Garvey started to look for the volumes; but 
they were all out. 

“That emphasizes the need of more books, does 
it not, Mr. Maglundy.^^” said the chief. 

“Undoubtedly. Are they all gone.^” 

“ Not all gone,” she replied, “ but so many readers 
call for books that are in circulation that it amounts 
to the same thing. To-day we have given out 
seventy, and we gave one hundred and thirty to the 
children last Sunday. I regret you were not here to 
see the enthusiasm of the little ones. It would have 
done your heart good.” 

She spoke of the heart of Maglundy, as if she were 
fully convinced that such an organ existed under 
that crust. 

“How consoling! The dear little ones. There is 
undoubtedly need of a fresh supply of books to meet 
the demand,” said Maglundy. 

“You see in your own case,” she insisted. “We 
cannot fill your order.” 

“I see, I see. This is a great work, indeed.” 

“We shall need more money,” continued Miss 
Garvey, “and we must get it before long.” 

“You really should have more money. Well, 
well; this is interesting, indeed.” 

Meanwhile Maglundy, turning on his heel, was 
examining the room with both eyes. The length 

and breadth of it were taken in. He walked around 
194 


Begins Its Career 


with the chief, and was allowed the extraordinary 
privilege of going inside the counter where Miss 
Garvey explained in detail the mechanism of the 
delivery and receipt of the books. She had already 
done this once before; but she was determined that 
the old man’s memory should be jogged now and 
then. She had a reason for it. 

“Interesting, very interesting, indeed,” said Ma- 
glundy, looking at his watch. 

Miss Garvey asked the privilege of selecting a 
book for him, and gave him F — 253, The Unwilling 
Bachelor. The old millionaire smiled at the title, 
shook hands with the chief and left the hall with the 
volume under his arm. 

The four assistants were at the Receiving Desk 
waiting for her. 

“Is the date named. Miss Garvey Will Father 
Sinclair officiate.^” they all asked in unison. 

“Never you mind about the date or ceremony. 
I’ll manage that. Business first; sentiment after- 
ward. Are the checks and stamps put away ? Now, 
ladies, next Sunday, at three, we shall be needed 
here.” 

The five put on their furs, locked the doors, and 
went out into the avenue, where the glare of the arc 
lights produced a curious effect among the large 
snowflakes which were coming down in myriads. 


195 





CHAPTER XVII 


The Elzevir Makes a Counter-Movement 

TT was an accident that brought Father Sinclair 
^ and Maglundy together the following day. 
The millionaire’s driver had not been able to extricate 
his horses from a blockade on Albright Street. 
While he was held tight amid huge sleighs, laden 
with iron and large boxes, the old man perceived 
the pastor passing on the sidewalk. Maglundy 
hailed him, made him get in beside him, and rolled 
the large fur robes cosily around him. 

“I shall pass by your church, Fawther, just as 
soon as these drays ahead of us get out of the way.” 

A few minutes later when the street was clear, the 
splendid team, with their silver-mounted harness and 
sweet-toned sleigh-bells, turned the corner and went 
away toward the Gottingen portion of Laurenboro. 

“What was the name of the preacher who spoke 
in St. Paul’s yesterday?” asked Maglundy. He 
wished the pastor not to forget that he had been to 
Mass. 

“Father Golworth, a missioner,” answered the 
pastor. “He comes from San Jacinto.” 

“From California — from San Jacinto,” exclaimed 
197 


The Elzevir Hakes 


the old man. “I should have been so glad to see 
any one from my former home.” 

“He was only passing through. He took the 
afternoon train,” returned the priest. 

“Indeed. He preached a very good sermon. It 
is nearly forty years since I heard one before. What 
a great gift is that of being able to speak well in 
public.” The millionaire evidently recalled his own 
attempt on Blenheim Square. 

“Yes, it was a very practical sermon,” replied 
Father Sinclair. “I was pleased he touched so 
forcibly on the subject of justice. We Catholics 
are so prone to forget our obligations — and how 
strongly the Church insists on restoring to the 
rightful owners what is not our own.” 

“Indeed, I am sure it is only justice after all to 
give back what does not belong to us,” commented 
Maglundy. 

“We only too often pull the wool over our own 
eyes,” continued the pastor, “and, as the preacher 
said, imagine we are easing our conscience when we 
perform public acts of charity. Justice must be 
done our neighbor even though the heavens fall.” 

The allusions were so pointed that Father Sinclair 
thought that perhaps he had gone a little too far; 
for Maglundy was silent for a moment or two. But he 
broke forth: — 

“Indeed! how interesting; how very interesting! 

198 


A Counter-Movement 

The new Library has started off very favorably, 
has it not 

“I knew it would,” answered the pastor. “It is 
going to fill a very great gap in Laurenboro, pro- 
vided we can keep it up.” 

By this time they had reached the glebe-house, 
and Father Sinclair jumped from the sleigh. 

“I was gratified to see you at church yesterday, 
Mr. Maglundy. I trust you will find your way 
there regularly. This is one of our duties as mem- 
bers of the only true Church, you know.” 

“Thank you, Fawther; I shall be there every 
Sunday henceforward.” And raising his hand to 
his cap, he drove on to his home. 

It was evident that Maglundy felt more and more 
at home in the company of the priest. The old 
millionaire acknowledged that he felt the need of 
consulting him frequently, and it was only the fear 
of troubling him that prevented him from calling 
at the glebe-house oftener. He told this one day 
to Father Sinclair. 

“Well, Mr. Maglundy, if Mahomet does not 
come to the mountain — what is the rest of it? — ^I 
may have to call on you.” 

“I should be delighted to see you often at my 
residence. I live alone, and you will always find 
the latch-string hanging out, Fawther, as my old 

friends the miners used to say.” 

199 


The Elzevir Makes 


“I promised Melgrove to call to-morrow night,” 
said the pastor, who, reflecting a moment, con- 
tinued, “perhaps we might go together?” 

“Very well, Fawther. I’ll send the sleigh for 
you — at what hour? My coachman shall drive you 
to my residence, and we will leave from there.” 

“Say seven o’clock.” 

It was arranged that they should meet at seven. 

Father Sinclair was anxious that Maglundy should 
know Melgrove. The meeting could not but be 
beneficial to the wealthy old miner. Horace Mel- 
grove was both interesting and instructive; and 
such a typical Catholic could not help having a 
powerful influence on him. Melgrove had a way 
of his own of putting things. He would certainly 
instil a few orthodox ideas into a head that was 
dreadfully ignorant. 

Maglundy was not the only one in this category 
in Laurenboro. Father Sinclair had several in his 
parish in whom the Catholic tone had never been 
developed — ^the Newell family, for instance — ^whose 
religion was restricted to Sunday Mass, yearly dues, 
and Easter Duty. Such a thing as Catholicity 
standing out in their lives and ruling their actions; 
seeing things as the Church sees them, and judg- 
ing things as the Church judges them, was not 
of their province. That was reserved for the clergy, 

they thought. The Newells were having their 
200 


A Cotmtcr-Movemcnt 


children educated in the public schools. It was 
more proper, Kenneth Newell contended, that the 
future citizens of a country should grow up together. 
This separating of one class from another, for reasons 
of religion, was hateful to him. He believed in 
centralization. Besides, the State should have a 
preponderating word in the civic formation of its 
citizens. 

No one could accuse Newell of being inconsistent 
in his conduct. He pushed his Newellism to the 
very brink of open rupture with his pastor and his 
Church. His latest movement was to suggest the 
establishment of a Catholic section in the Elzevir 
as an offset to Father Sinclair’s scheme. The latter 
had it on good authority that the directors of that 
institution, also at Newell’s suggestion, had asked 
underhand for a list of the books in the Laurenboro 
Library. They were not a little taken aback when 
they received a catalogue by registered mail, “ With 
Father Sinclair’s compliments.” 

It was bad taste, then, on their part to announce 
in the Times that a new departure had been decided 
upon at their last meeting, namely, that the Elzevir 
Library, “the only real free library in the city,” to 
meet the ever-increasing demand for denominational 
literature, was going to introduce a special section, 
to be known as the “R. C. Section,” for a certain 
class of readers. 


The Elzevir Makes 


Burton called to see Father Sinclair with the 
resolution in his pocket. He wanted to know 
whether he should insert it or not, and what com- 
mentary he should make upon it. 

“Insert it?” said the pastor. “Why not? If 
the Elzevir people wish to spread Catholic books, 
why not let them? No one will be better pleased 
than I. That is precisely what we are trying to do, 
and it were better to have two sources to draw from 
than one. But you might ask the Elzevir what they 
mean by ‘R. C.’ Why not simply ‘ Catholic Section’ ? 
‘R. C.’ may mean many things; it may mean the 
Royal Coronet edition of the German philosophers, 
and the other French atheists, that came out last 
year, and that I had to burn last week. It may 
mean the new Red Cover edition of Dumas’ works. 
It may mean anything. ‘R. C. Section’ is simply a 
blind; and unless those people over at the Elzevir 
are franker in their methods, I will formally warn 
my people to keep away from them.” 

Burton took notes, well pleased with the sugges- 
tions, and was about to leave when Father Sinclair 
asked him: 

“How is the twopenny catechism advancing?” 

“ Splendidly. Got as far as Purgatory,” answered 
Burton. 

“ That means that you are coming to more solemn 

moments. Burton — moments when something more 
202 


A G)antcr-Movement 


is required from you than mere knowledge of the 
Catholic doctrines. Any one may study the cate- 
cliism for the speculative interest there is in it, just 
as any one may study Shintoism. Prayer is required 
now — incessant prayer— for further enlightenment and 
for strength to make the great step. Many men have 
got as far as you are now, Burton, but they had not 
the courage to go to the end. One in your position 
— ^before the public eye as you are — ^will have to 
struggle; and unless God’s grace helps you, and it 
may be had for the asking, you will halt by the way.” 

Burton left the glebe-house strongly impressed by 
these words of the priest speaking so authoritatively. 
Half-way down the stairs he turned back. 

“I was forgetting to tell you. Father, that I spoke 
to Mayor Bruce about that matter of having his 
name connected with the new Library. He was very 
pleasant about it, and said that he feared nothing. 
If you desire to print his name in your catalogue as 
one of your patrons, you are at perfect liberty to do 
so. Another thing I was nearly forgetting — the 
agent of the Helerand Estate is a personal friend of 
mine. He is a Quaker; but I mentioned the matter 
of the Little Sisters of the Poor, and he told me to 
say that they may have the large house next the 
Incurables, free of rent, till the spring.” 

“Thank you very much. Burton, for all the trouble 
you are taking. I will see to things to-morrow. 


The Elzevir Makes 


The Sisters will arrive in a couple of weeks. Here 
is a small sketch of their work and their methods, 
which you may ‘ boil down ’ for your readers, if you 
care to.” 

The following day the Times had the pastor’s 
suggestion on the Elzevir resolution almost word for 
word, and elsewhere in the same issue a well-written 
synopsis of the phases of the French persecution, 
and an urgent appeal to the citizens of Laurenboro 
to turn out, irrespective of rank or nationality, and 
welcome the six exiles, who for conscience’ sake had 
been driven from their homes in France, and who 
were coming to give Laurenboro the benefit of their 
humble ministry. The appeal was eloquent in its 
pathos, and, as events proved, moved the hearts of 
all the fair-minded citizens. 

The elder Newell, when he read his Times that 
night, remarked- 

“I wonder what is the matter with Burton these 
weeks. He is getting even more Catholic than I am 
myself.” 

Melgrove was sitting up in his couch and feeling 
quite well when Father Sinclair and Maglundy 
called that evening. He told his visitors all about 
the railway accident, that is, all he knew about it. 
For the collision had come so unexpectedly that he 
knew nothing at all until he recovered consciousness 
and found himself lying in a section-man’s house 
304 


A Coimter-Movement 


beside the track, many miles from the station. The 
loss of his little daughter had been the saddest 
episode in the tragedy, and he and Mrs. Melgrove 
were quite lonely without her. That was one of the 
reasons he was so well pleased when the visitors 
called. 

The visit delighted Maglundy, and made the 
old man quite genial. Melgrove had the secret of 
drawing him out. The little nothings of conversation 
are not reserved exclusively to the gentler sex: 
Melgrove was an adept. He insisted on another 
call from Maglundy, which was promised for the 
following week. Father Sinclair’s programme was 
being carried out to the letter. 


m 






CHAPTER XVIII 


A Winter Episode in Laurenboro 

rriHE reception given to the Little Sisters by the 
citizens of Laurenboro turned out to be an 
ovation. During the fortnight succeeding the appeal 
in the Times ^ the Home, situated just outside the 
city limits, had been furnished by the voluntary 
offerings of families in the parish. When the six 
exiles from France walked down the gangway of the 
tender and stepped ashore, a sudden cheer rent the 
air. It was taken up by the thousands who stood 
along the quay; and echoed far beyond. This was 
the first tribute — a decidedly human but sincere 
one — ^given by Laurenboro to a body of women 
whose self-sacrificing virtues and confidence in God 
have made them famous throughout the world. 

They were driven to their new home, where they 
found the Archbishop, Father Sinclair, and half a 
dozen tottering old men, waiting to welcome them. 
There and then these spouses of Christ began their 
work among God’s suffering poor; and, as the sequel 
will show, they had not come too soon. 

December was slowly passing away, with its long 
evenings and its short days, its bleak winds and its 
207 


A Winter Episode 


mountains of snow. During the month Laurenboro 
had its first fierce storm of the season. For five days 
the fiakes came down in such quantities that piles of 
snow, six feet high, filled the avenues from side to 
side, and gave the metropolis quite an arctic aspect. 
Traffic was at a standstill, and would have remained 
so until the springtime, had not Mayor Bruce pub- 
lished a card in the Times, calling for workmen to 
clear the streets. 

Nearly a thousand responded within two days. 
This army of shovellers was divided into squads, 
marched to different quarters of the city, and set to 
work. Great moats soon appeared in the banks and 
drifts along the avenues; and when the sleighs and 
trams began to circulate, it was as though they were 
moving through interminable canals running the 
length and breadth of Laurenboro. 

A painful accompaniment of the storm was the 
intense cold. The mercury had gone down several 
degrees below zero, and the consequent suffering 
was intense in Gottingen Ward, where the houses 
were poorly built and the fuel scarce. The labor 
strike in the Pennsylvania coal mines had raised 
the price of coal, and the small sums that the heads 
of families had earned by shovelling snow were soon 
spent. Food and fuel, the two staples in winter in 
the northern metropolis, were wanting. 

Tearful scenes met the eyes of Father Sinclair in 
208 


In Laurenboro 


his daily visits; mothers and their little children 
crying with hunger and huddled together to keep out 
the cold. Gaunt poverty, with its sunken cheeks 
and famished looks, stalked through Laurenboro 
for the first time in its history. 

It was a sad spectacle this poverty and suffering, 
rendered sadder still by the contrast that presented 
itself in the West End of the city, where the roaring 
hearth, the well-filled larder, the merry laugh, defied 
the storms raging outside. No sigh of human misery 
disturbed the stately mansions on Ashburne Avenue. 
The strains of music which constantly filled their 
brilliantly-lighted drawing-rooms did not pierce the 
limestone walls, nor did they carry an echo to Gottin- 
gen until the Little Sisters of the Poor began to visit 
the kitchens. 

During the week of the blizzard. Burton and the 
pastor had gone from house to house and had taken 
the names of those whose poverty was greatest. 
They urged Mayor Bruce to issue an appeal in favor 
of the victims of the storm. A few thousands placed 
in the Mayor’s hands — and promptly handed over 
partly to a civic committee and partly to the Little 
Sistei-s — relieved the distress for the moment; for 
when the storm had abated and traflSc was renewed, 
the tension was over. 

The editor had headed an appeal for alms in his 
paper, and in a few days he had nearly five hundred 
209 


A Winter Episode 


dollars, which he suggested to Father Sinclair should 
be given to the new Home. 

They both went to present it, and found the Sisters 
busily engaged in the various rooms, where every- 
thing was scrupulously neat and clean, and the old 
people happy. But Burton was somewhat taken 
aback to learn that not one of the exiles, except the 
Superior, could stammer even a few words of 
English. 

“These Little Sisters do not speak English,” said 
Burton; “won’t that be a drawback to their use- 
fulness?” 

“ I do not think so,” answered the pastor, quickly. 
“Besides, if it comes to a question of linguistics. 
Burton, these Sisters could perhaps make themselves 
understood over a wider field than you or I.” 

The editor looked puzzled. 

“ There are two Calabrians among them. Parlate 
ItalianOy Signor Burtonif asked Father Sinclair. 

Burton modestly replied that he had not read 
Dante in the original. 

“ Verstehen Sie Deutsche mein Herr ? The Sister 
feeding that old man in the comer over yonder is a 
convert from Lutheranism, who can entertain you 
in the purest German, if you are so disposed.” 

The editor declined the invitation. 

An lahhairin tu Gaeilghe a Duine tiasilf'* 

persisted the pastor, smiling, for he was carrying his 
210 


In Lanrcnboro 


batteries right into the enemy’s country. “If you 
do, there is a httle Irish Sister down in the kitchen 
washing the pots ” 

Burton threw up his hands and pleaded for mercy. 

“See here, Mr. Editor,” urged Father Sinclair, 
profiting by the discomfiture of his victim, “you 
belong to a class of men who imagine that English is 
the tongue of the Law and the Prophets. Please 
broaden your ideas a bit. The Catholic Church is 
universal. She is not wedded to any nation; nor is 
she the bond-slave of any tongue. These Sisters 
are going to beg for the poor. That is enough. 
One does not need to know Anglo-Saxon to hold out 
one’s hands for alms.” Then, pointing to the half- 
dozen helpless old men and twice as many old women 
whom the Sisters had already gathered in, he added : 
“Charity alone will suflSce to serve these remnants 
of humanity and to soften their last days.” 

The editor of the Times went away from the 
Home profoundly impressed with what he had seen 
and heard. The gentle manner of the Little Sisters, 
their cheerful resignation, and the poverty of their 
surroundings; above all, their sincere promise to 
pray for those who had been kind to them — ^for 
him especially — nearly brought tears to his eyes. 

The experiences gone through in the Gottingen 
blizzard had a telling effect on Burton. It was the 
first time in his career that he had come face to face 
211 


A Winter Episode 


with suffering poverty. The resignation of the 
Catholics in their misfortune, their patience amid 
the bitterest pangs of hunger and cold, affected him 
deeply. 

“ How is it. Father, that your people accept those 
evils with such easy grace he asked one night 
while sitting with the pastor in the cosy glebe-house 
study. 

“We do not all do that,” answered the pastor. 
“ I know Catholics who accept poverty and suffering 
with anything but resignation. Buc they are not 
the model ones. A good Catholic accepts the ups 
and downs of life as coming direct from the hand 
of God. Plenty or want, heat or cold, sickness or 
health, a long or a short life, is all one to a Catholic 
who lives up to the tenets of his Faith. This life is 
only a passing state. Burton — a period of transition, 
a probation. A true Catholic will not spend his 
years bewailing the evils that beset him. He knows 
that the Hand that feeds the sparrows will not pass 
him by. Does a wise traveller waste his time plucking 
flowers by the wayside, when he knows that Paradise 
awaits him at the end of his journey.^ Keep your 
eye on the end; that is the only secret.” 

This was a new phase of Catholic life about which 
Burton needed some further instruction. He had 
already studied the Church as a system of doctrine, 

and he admired its completeness. All that remained 
212 


In Lanrcnboro 


for him now was to see how the system worked in 
the concrete. In order to show him, Father Sinclair 
did not take him to the West End, where luxury 
deadened religious influences, but among the Catholic 
poor of Gottingen Ward during the blizzard. 

Burton’s eyes were opened gradually. It would 
seem that Providence was throwing in his way 
golden opportunities; and the intelligent editor 
reasoned : — 

“A Church that can influence men’s careers so 
deeply as to make them live resignedly in poverty, 
that can bring so vividly to their minds the reality 
of life beyond the tomb, was to him the only Church 
of Christ; and she might claim her queenship by 
right divine in the kingdom of souls.” 

This was the kind of religion that appealed to Bur- 
ton. He had made up his mind, in the hovels of 
Gottingen, on the step he should take just as soon 
as Father Sinclair would let him. 

Meanwhile Christmas came with its home joys 
and its sweet souvenirs, with its religious solemnity 
and its season of grace. The old sexton and a few 
ladies of the parish had spent the three preceding 
days in decorating the altar, building the Crib, and 
generally touching up things about the church. 
They did their work in fear and trembling, however; 
for they knew, from ten years’ experience, that when 

there was question of decorating his beautiful church, 
213 


A Winter EpiscxJc 


Father Sinclair was hard to please. The Gothic tone 
had to prevail. He permitted no barbaric splendors, 
nothing that suggested the painting of the lily. He 
made it a point to burn every catalogue that came 
to him from the church-supply houses, lest any one 
should be tempted to copy, or even praise, the 
execrable designs in ornaments and fixtures that 
pass for art. Gothic was good enough for him — 
and the ladies knew it. That was the reason why 
the main altar, with its white marble pillars, its 
chaste, willowy vases, and its natural flowers, was 
so beautiful in its severe simpheily during the holy 
season. 

In his remarks on the Sunday preceding Christ- 
mas, Father Sinclair alluded to the good old custom 
of gift-making. It was a praiseworthy one as long 
as it was exercised within the bounds of reason; and 
as a means of sealing friendships one that should 
not be discouraged. As for himself, he had been 
the recipient, in years gone by, of many marks of 
esteem from members of his flock. But as he was 
growing old, he said, and as he had stowed away 
somewhere seventeen fountain pens, eight or nine 
gold-headed canes, numberless pairs of slippers, he 
would ask his well-wishers to ignore him this year 
and turn their attention toward the new library. 
Let those who desired to show him a mark of friend- 
ship send a few volumes to the Laurenboro Library. 

214 


In Laurcnboro 


All anxiety as to “ What shall we give him this year ?” 
would then be ended, and the books would be useful. 

The hint was taken. The day after Christmas 
nearly three hundred books were added to Miss 
Garvey’s stock-in-hand, some of the works being 
very valuable ; among them several encyclopedias 
and art collections, which would form the nucleus 
of a Consulting Section. 

The Caysons had been constantly going to the 
Library for books. In fact, Clare, whose vocation 
was decided during the Festival excitement, had 
become chief assistant under Miss Garvey. The 
head of the family, a retired banker, had already 
sent several handsome gifts of books from his own 
home, and on one occasion, when he called himself, 
had promised the chief to give her an oil painting 
to cover up one of the bare walls in the Library hall. 
It had been in his family for generations, having 
been brought from Italy by his great-grandfather, 
Cassoni, a former ambassador. It had been con- 
sidered valuable, he was told; but time had swallowed 
up the traditions attached to it. If Miss Garvey or 
her friends could make any money for the Library 
by disposing of it, they were welcome to it all. 

The painting arrived at the hall during the week 
following Christmas. It was a large canvas repre- 
senting, “Angels watching over the Crib at Bethle- 
hem,” and evidently a work of merit. The skilful 
215 


A Winter Episode 


drawing and the delicate coloring could still be seen 
under the blackening influence of years. But who 
the artist was, or when the colors were laid on, were 
mysteries that the chief was going to take steps to 
solve. 

Christmas and its unavoidable social duties did 
not impede her work or that of her assistants. The 
extra labor of revising the new books only spurred 
her on to greater activity; and by the time the holi- 
days were over, she had the wheelwork running 
smoothly again, in preparation for the rest of the 
winter. Under Miss Garvey’s skilful management, 
the Laurenboro Library was becoming very popular. 
A new assistant had to be on hand on Wednesdays 
to take her place, as she was kept busy answering 
questions and initiating new readers into her meth- 
ods. Her card system simplified things so much 
that after the first month only one book could not be 
traced. And that was no fault of hers. A reader, 
evidently a thief, had given a wrong address at the 
Registration Desk. This was a phenomenal record, 
although over a thousand books had been in circu- 
lation. There was no further doubt about the 
success of the Library. All she desired now was to 
see its influence extended; that is, she was anxious 
to see more books on the shelves to meet the con- 
stantly increasing demands. But books cost money; 
and where was the money to come from ? 

216 


In Laurcnboro 


The terrific storm of the preceding month had 
been a set-back; for many small donations which 
had been promised to the Library went to feed the 
poor in Gottingen and to buy them fuel. The 
arrival of the Little Sisters had also turned many a 
dollar into another channel. But this did not 
dampen her courage. She well knew that what 
was given to the poor was lent to the Lord, and that 
He would repay with interest. 

Maglundy was becoming an omnivorous reader. 
Regularly every Wednesday he came to exchange 
his book. He had confidence in the judgment of 
Miss Garvey, and, ignoring the lady at the Receiving 
Desk, he always inquired for the chief hbrarian. 
This at last became a source of amusement among 
the assistants, who, when they saw the old man 
entering, always notified the chief: — 

“Miss Garvey, here’s your millionaire!” 

And the chief was instantly at his service, coun- 
selling the reading of this book, discouraging that. 
The returned volume was always the topic of a long 
conversation. She perceived that he read the works 
through. For some weeks she had been reserving 
for Maglundy a volume she very much desired him 
to read, “D — 19, The True Ministry of Wealth'' 
It was rather a big book, but she would give him the 
privilege of keeping it out as long as he wanted it. 
“I am delighted. Miss Garvey, to learn that the 
217 


A Winter Episode 


Library is succeeding so well,” said he to her while 
she was engaged apparently in looking for the 
volume for him. 

“The Library, so far, Mr. Maglundy, has been 
a very great success. But I fear we shall have to 
close soon.” 

And she kept on looking for the book. 

“How sad!” exclaimed the old man, in a doleful 
tone. “And may I ask what the reason is of the 
impending calamity ? ” 

“Want of funds to keep it up,” she retorted, 
quickly, almost brutally. “Here is a book that I 
think you will find interesting — ‘D — 19, The True 
Ministry of Wealth ^ — a rather long work; but there 
is a pretty love story running through it” — she did 
not dare look at Maglundy — “ if you find you cannot 
read it in a week, you may keep it out without 
renewal.” 

“Thank you very much for this privilege. You 
are always very kind and amiable. I shall read the 
book carefully.” 

He shook her hand and left the hall. 

There was method in Miss Garvey’s scheming. 
The True Ministry of Wealth'^ was a powerful 
appeal to the rich to do good while they were still 
in life, and not to wait till the grass had grown over 
them. It was the story of an old millionaire with a 
hobby — one who is consumed with a longing to do 
218 


In Laurenboro 


something for his fellow-men and who tears up his 
will seven times. He founds several institutions of 
charity and learning. In the end, he marries and 
provides generously for his wife. When he dies he 
leaves the rest of his fortune to good works; but the 
State comes in and claims nearly half of it for suc- 
cession duties. The parallel with Maglundy was 
not quite complete, but the application was evident. 

“If the old gentleman reads that book, as he has 
promised,” thought Miss Garvey, “the pastor may 
soon be able to buy many more. I am going to get 
a few thousand out of that millionaire yet.” 

And when she set her mind on a thing it was good 
as done. 

“After all, he is a sweet old soul,” she mused, 
“ always so kind and so nice when he comes in here; 
and he listens so attentively. Perhaps my first im- 
pressions of him were wrong,” 

But the chief did not continue long in this strain 
of thought. It was silly; and, besides, she never 
dared mention Maglundy’s name in the presence of 
the other librarians. They always plagued her to 
death. According to them, she was baiting her hooks 
to catch a whale; and she was doing nothing of the 
kind — so she said, 



CHAPTER XIX 


Brighter Prospects for the Library 

rflHE millionaire’s visits to the Melgroves were 
regular now. Every Wednesday evening the 
familiar step was heard climbing the stairs to the 
room where the invalid was convalescing. Mrs. 
Melgrove’s Christmas gift to the old man was a 
handsome pair of prayer beads, mounted on silver 
wire. 

“ And what am I to do with this ?” he asked, when 
the dainty box was placed in his hands. 

“ Say them, of course.” 

“But I assure you, Mrs. Melgrove, I do not 
know how,” frankly answered the old California 
miner. “ Where am I to begin ” 

The donor took the greatest delight in explaining 
the way to him. 

“And when am I to say my prayers on them ?” 

“Every night.” 

“Every night!” exclaimed the astonished Silas. 
“Isn’t that too often? I might break them. Are 
they not too precious to bring them out so often ? ” 

“O no, Mr. Maglundy; you must promise me to 
say your beads every night.” 

m 


Brighter Prospects 


Maglundy promised; though the old man realized 
that, no matter how willing the spirit, the flesh is 
weak. 

The long and interesting talks between Melgrove 
and himself had proved beneficial in more ways than 
one. Maglundy’s hobby had been that of serving 
his fellow-citizens; but the cool reception the Times 
had given his fountain on Blenheim Square had put 
a damper on his zeal in that direction. The news- 
paper was, in the old man’s mind, the voice of the 
people; and he could not get over the scoring the 
people had given him through Burton’s prose; nor 
could he forgive that “nincompoop” from the Uni- 
versity for criticizing the inscription. 

One evening he was telling Melgrove all these 
grievances. 

“ Strange it is, sir, that men are so prone to judge 
others wrongly.” 

“Mr. Maglundy,” said Melgrove, after he had 
listened quite a while to what he had heard so many 
times before, “there is no reason for this discour- 
agement. Don’t you think that with that fortune of 
yours you could still do a great deal for your fellow- 
citizens ? One of the reasons why the Times was so 
hard on you, if you remember, was the utter useless- 
ness of that fountain during half the year. There 
are many services you might render to Laurenboro 
which would make your name illustrious in the years 
222 


For the Library 


to come, and, besides, do much good to your fellow- 
citizens every day in the year. It is not very often 
that a man drops into a gold mine, as you have 
done, and few have the opportunities that are yours, 
even now. Fountains and such like are all very good 
in their place; they beautify a city, and make it 
attractive to live in. But there are other ideals — 
loftier ones than even fountains.” 

“ I don’t understand you,” broke in Maglundy. 

“ Some work, I mean, that will do good to men’s 
minds and souls rather than their bodies. Drinking- 
water is an excellent thing, but there is plenty in the 
Brono, and people can always get it there. Not so 
with men’s minds. In this age, when knowledge is 
daily widening its bounds, we all realize our limi- 
tations; we feel the need of further enlightenment. 
Nowadays, wealthy men are not satisfied with raising 
fountains. In these gifts there is always lurking 
some afterthought or other, some subtle self-seeking. 
Fountains are in most cases monuments raised to 
their own pride, whereon they have their names 
carved in bronze or marble ” 

Maglundy began to grow uneasy. 

“ and people are wise enough to see through 

their scheming. Men of money nowadays have 
learned to be less selfish. They endow university 
chairs; they build colleges; they educate youth for 
the priesthood; they found libraries where people 


Brighter Prospects 


may have sound reading. Education is the end 
wealthy men aim at in these times. Or again, among 
ourselves, wealthy Catholics work to advance the 
cause of the Church. It is a false theory that can- 
not be too strongly combated, that which leaves all 
the work of religion to the clergy. Why should not 
laymen do their share in extending the influence of 
our Church 

Melgrove was flying far over the head of the old 
miner, who could not follow him in these consider- 
ations. Maglundy was still of the earth earthy; the 
speaker knew this very well. But he also knew that 
he had to aim high if he desired to raise the old 
millionaire out of his present level. 

“For instance,*' continued Melgrove, “what do 
we laymen here in St. Paul's do for our Church 
beyond paying our pew-rents — and many don't even 
do that " 

“I have not paid for my pew yet,” interrupted 
Maglundy. 

“ contributing a few dollars to the support of 

Father Sinclair, and throwing in an occasional 
dollar for some charitable object or other ? Let me 
illustrate. There is the new Library that Father 
Sinclair has organized. That is a noble work, dis- 
tributing good reading matter among the people of 
the whole town, and preventing their minds from 
being coiTupted. Think of the vast influence it 
m 


For the Library 


c^uld wield in Laurenboro. Still, the chief librarian 
told me a couple of days ago that she may have to 
close the doors ” 

“ She told me the very same thing this afternoon,” 
added the millionaire feelingly, “ and she is such a 
fine woman.” 

“Not a nobler woman in Laurenboro; devoted, 
earnest, anxious to do good; and she is now handi- 
capped for want of money that we laymen should 
supply her with to carry on her good work.” 

Maglundy was in a deep study; he kept puflSng 
away at his cigar. 

“ I intend to do something myself in a few days,” 
added Melgrove, growing confidential with a pur- 
pose. “ Mrs. Melgrove and I have been talking the 
matter over, and we shall not see that Library shut 
down even if we have to mortgage our property.” 

“Indeed! Mortgage your property!” exclaimed 
Maglundy. “I should indeed be sorry to see the 
doors closed, and I am glad that you purpose to do 
something for Miss Garvey.” 

“Of course,” replied Melgrove, “one family can- 
not do all. If three or four of our wealthy Catholics 
would club together, we could do something to give 
pleasure to Miss Garvey — don’t you think so?” 

“Nothing would please me more than to give 
pleasure to the chief librarian,” said Maglundy, who 
found that the conversation had reached danger- 
225 


Brighter Prospects 

ously practical issues. “What should you propose, 
sir?” 

Melgrove had his man at bay. 

“ A very simple scheme, sir. I have been in con- 
sultation with Father Sinclair for a few days, and 
we have concluded that the interest on a hundred 
thousand dollars ” 

Maglundy was uneasy again. 

“ or even seventy-five thousand, safely in- 

vested, would bring in an income large enough to 
meet expenses and keep the Laurenboro Library up- 
to-date. Cayson, who called to see me the day before 
yesterday, is of the same opinion, and he is willing 
to contribute twenty thousand; the Molveys and the 
Graymers will, I know, contribute at least ten thou- 
sand each; and so on. And they are not millionaires 
by any means,” added Melgrove, smiling, and look- 
ing Maglundy straight in the eyes. 

The business-like way the proposition had been 
put before him fairly staggered the old miner. 

“ But in an affair of this kind, would there be any 
return; any acknowledgment, I mean?” he asked. 

“Certainly,” answered Melgrove. “The best 
acknowledgment would be the consciousness of 
having contributed to a work that would be active 
when we are in our graves.” 

“And is that all?” asked Maglundy. 

Melgrove’s presence of mind did not abandon him. 

226 


For the Library 

“ Not at all. I should suggest that some acknowl- 
edgment in the form of a tablet, or something of the 
kind, should be raised to recall the names of the 
generous benefactors.” 

“ I will think the matter over seriously, Mr. Mel- 
grove. How much did you say Cayson would give 

“Twenty thousand dollars.” 

“I am going to think it over,” murmured the old 
man, rising, for his stay had been quite long. “I 
am delighted to know that you are improving so 
rapidly. I think I shall have to say good-night.” 

And Maglundy left. 

“ The old man is in the toils, Eleanor,” said Mel- 
grove to his wife, when she brought him the Times 
that night. “He cannot get out of them now.” 
And he proceeded to tell how he had worked his 
plans. 

“I am sure he will give generously,” answered 
Mrs. Melgrove; “ and won’t Miss Garvey be happy .^” 

“I think, Eleanor, that Mary Garvey is hypno- 
tizing Maglundy. Every time I mentioned her name 
to-night, the old man’s eyes glistened.” 

Mrs. Melgrove laughed at the conceit. “It may 
be. I should not put it beyond that shrewd little 
lady.” 

“ We should mature our plans as soon as possible,” 
continued the invalid, “with regard to Helen’s 
insurance. The sooner we bring things to a head, 
227 


Brighter Prospects 


the sooner will our friend Maglundy consider him- 
self bound to act/’ 

The plan of the Melgroves was one that had been 
the topic for several days. Little Helen’s life had 
been insured at a very early age for five thousand 
dollars. The premiums had been faithfully paid; 
the amount of the policy was now due. Besides this 
sum, the Melgroves felt that they could contribute 
five thousand without missing it. They had no 
direct heir, and the estate might fall into the hands 
of people whose ideas differed from theirs in the 
matter of charitable works. They had decided to 
deed over to the Laurenboro Library little Helen’s 
insurance and their own gift of five thousand dollars. 
But so far it had been kept a secret between them- 
selves. Not even Father Sinclair had an inkling 
of the windfall that was impending. 

Ten thousand dollars would give the Library a 
footing; but Melgrove had vaster ideas, and he took 
it upon himself to impart them to others. It was he 
who prevailed on Cayson and Graymer to part with 
twenty and ten thousand respectively. The Molveys 
were not quite decided; but he could count on ten 
thousand from them. That would make the re- 
spectable sum of fifty thousand. If Maglundy, the 
richest of them all, would only give the other twenty- 
five thousand, the Library was founded. 

“But how are we going to succeed with the old 
228 


For the Library 


gentleman?” was Melgrove’s last question that 
night. When sleep overtook him he had not yet 
found an answer. 

The whole scheme for the founding of the Free 
Library was laid before Father Sinclair next day. 
It was a pleasant surprise to him, and he immedi- 
ately suggested incorporation at the coming session 
of the Legislature to permit of the acquisition of 
property. The present site was only a temporary 
one; the Library could not always stay where it was. 

“ If the money is provided, we can easily secure a 
better one”; said the pastor, “and put things on a 
larger scale. But do you think that Mr. Maglundy 
will contribute the other twenty-five thousand to 
the work?” 

“Why should he not?” asked Melgrove. “He 
has the money, and we are going to do our best with 
him. My wife suggests that Miss Garvey should use 
her influence with him.” 

Father Sinclair returned to the glebe-house, con- 
vinced more than ever that the Laurenboro Library 
was progressing rapidly. 

“God is directing this work,” he mused, as he 
walked up and down the balcony, “and God does 
all things well.” 





CHAPTER XX 


The Pastor Entertains a Visitor 

LEATHER Sinclair’s life was a busy one. It was 
a question his people often discussed, how he 
could succeed so well in doing all his parish work 
without the aid of an assistant. He had been re- 
peatedly urged to apply to the Archbishop for one; 
but his activity was of a kind that made him feel 
delicate about taking such a step. The truth is, the 
pastor of St. Paul’s knew the value of time, and no 
minutes were lost. The Library had given him 
some worry in the beginning, but Miss Garvey had 
such a mastery of details now that his worries in that 
connection had quite ceased. In fact, the Library 
and the chief librarian were becoming one and the 
same thing. Readers no longer said, “they were 
going to the Library,” but, “they were going to see 
IMiss Garvey.” The pastor did not object to this. 
He had the fullest confidence in her ability and tact ; 
and he let her have her own way in everything. 

St. Paul’s parish, with its sick, and its poor, and 
its unfortunate, kept him busy. He did not ask his 
flock to do his spiritual work, but there was many a 
thing they could do, and he let them do it. In these 
231 


The Pastor 


matters he applied his theory of lay-action. The 
Ladies of Charity and the Society of St. Vincent of 
Paul kept liim in touch with the poor. The sick 
knew that he was always ready to fly, day or night, 
whithersoever he was called. The telephone had 
saved him many journeys down-town. But, for all 
that, his life was a busy one. The respect in which he 
was held by all classes had made a word or a note from 
him a power in Laurenboro, though he sometimes 
found the requests of the people very unreasonable. 

One day — it was in the beginning of January — he 
took out his note-book and read: — 

Mrs. O. will call at 10 o’clock. 

Clergyman’s blank to be signed for Mrs. C.’s admission 
to Royalview Hospital. 

Clothes for Mrs. A.’s husband. See Melgrove. 

See Supt. Weston to have H.’s son transferred from 
Chicago office, G. W. Ry. Reason : change of air. 

Mrs. W. Ward G. Royalview. Call at one. 

That Gottingen family — son in trouble again. 

Card Sec’y Art Club. Friday at seven. 

Confirmation of Polly M. 

Burton to-night at eight. 

Half-ton of coal for 834 Blenheim Square, W. 

Mrs. K. will call for pledge card. Leave with Nanny — 
sealed vdih wax. 

Ask Weston for pass for R.’s family to Beaumaris — 
rheumatism — good for three months — private car, if 
possible. 

Mrs. G’s rent this month. See Melgrove. 

Gottingen 86, room 9a. Chickenpox. 

232 


Entertains a Visitor 


This was a sample of a half-day’s work. He man- 
aged to keep his engagements well mapped out; but 
he could scarcely call his time his own. 

He had just been to see Superintendent Weston 
of the Great Western about the transfer of Hiller’s 
son, and was entering the door of the glebe-house, 
when Nanny met him. 

“There’s a tramp or sumthin’ that wants to see 
your Reverence in the parlor.” 

“Very well, Nanny, tell him I’ll be there in a 
minute,” said the pastor genially. 

While he was taking off his overcoat, he mused, 
“I do hope it is not another of those book agents. 
Since that Library has been started, my life has not 
been worth living. 

Father Sinclair looked at his watch. It was half- 
past eleven, and he had to dine, and be at the hos- 
pital at one. 

When he entered the little parlor, the stranger 
stood up and held out a trembling hand. He was 
tall, rather refined in appearance, with a tired, droop- 
ing air. He was shabbily dressed, and had a fort- 
night’s growth of beard on his face. A deep, red 
scar like a sword-cut ran across his forehead. In a 
word, he had the air of a man who had run up 
against the world, and had got the worst of it. 
Still, the pastor might be mistaken. 

“ Father, I am sorry if I am giving you any trou- 
233 


The Pastor 


ble,” the stranger began, in a subdued tone. “I 
know yours is a busy life, but ” — here his voice began 
to quaver — am in great trouble. I was in your 
Library this morning, and I was told to call on you. 
I am a librarian myself, from the Gotham Merchants’ 
Institute, New York.” 

He ceased speaking; large tears began to roll 
down his cheeks. Some great trouble was evidently 
weighing on him, and Father Sinclair made an effort 
to calm him. It was some time before the stranger 
could resume. 

“Are we alone here?” he asked, getting close to 
the priest. “May I speak to you in confidence?” 

He noticed that the parlor door was open, and he 
made a movement as if to close it; but Father Sin- 
clair got ahead of him. After being fully assured 
that they were quite alone, he continued : — 

“I should like to go to confession; for I feel the 
need not only of counsel, but also of absolution, in 
my present condition.” 

“Very well,” broke in the pastor, sympatheti- 
cally, “you may go into the church to prepare 
yourself. I will be with you in a quarter of an 
hour.” 

The tears that rolled down the cheeks so abun- 
dantly had conquered the heart of the pastor. 

“Perhaps,” interposed the visitor, “it is just as 
well that I speak to you here first.” 

234 


Entertains a Visitor 

“Very well, sir. Let me hear your story.” 

“ I am an utter stranger to you,” he began. “ You 
never saw me before. My name is Crookwood, from 
New York, as I told you. I belong to Father Rin- 
gard’s parish — St. Basil’s. I was an altar boy there 
years ago, and then joined the choir. It was there 
that I met my wife for the first time.” Crookwood 
sobbed convulsively, and he gasped out, “I am 
growing faint.” 

The man was, in fact, fainting. His face grew 
livid; his hands closed tightly as if to grasp some- 
thing; he fell back on the lounge he had been sitting 
on. The pastor went to the door and told Nanny to 
hurry with a glass of water. 

“Glory be to the saints!” exclaimed Nanny. She 
came rushing in with the water and threw a whole 
cupful into the face of the stranger. 

The shock revived him. He raised his head, and 
looking around him in a half-dazed, half-terrified 
state, shouted at the top of his voice: — 

‘ ‘Judge, I did not mean to do the deed ! Heaven 
knows I did not mean to do it!” 

Nanny was scared to death. The pastor told her 
to go to the kitchen and keep her tongue quiet. 

Crookwood was now fully conscious, and implor- 
ingly begged Father Sinclair to tell him what he had 
said during his fainting-spell. 

“Nothing, absolutely nothing,” answered the 
235 


The Pastor 


priest, who was tiring of this little tragedy which had 
come to him so unexpectedly. 

“ Father, I fear I shall end my days on a scaffold. 
I would ask your leave to go out into the fields to 
die. I have no further use for life. What was the 
last thing I told you ?” 

“That you met your wife for the first time in a 
choir. Yours is not an exceptional case in the history 
of choirs, is it.^” asked the pastor, trying to cheer 
him up a bit; for he was on the verge of collapsing 
again. He was in the helplessness of despair. 

The time was passing. This item was not down 
on Father Sinclair’s note-book; so he shook his 
visitor gently. 

“Rouse yourself, sir. Be a man. What is your 
story What do you wish me to do for you?” 

This had the desired effect. 

“I really must beg your pardon. I know I am 
taking up your precious time. Father. I have killed 
my wife; I am a murderer. A week ago. Father 
Ringard came to ask us to take part in a concert for 
the poor of the parish. When he left the house, my 
wife and I had some angry words over a piece of 
music. I raised a piano-wrench and struck her. 
She fell to the floor screaming. The neighbors ran 
in, and tried to seize me, but I escaped. Half-crazed, 
I took a Fourth Avenue car to the Grand Central 
Station. I jumped on a train that was moving out 
236 


Entertains a Visitor 


and reached x\lbany. I spent two days hiding in the 
freight yard at Troy. A New York paper told me in 
a column of sensational headings that I was a mur- 
derer; that the police were on my tracks; that all 
trains were watched. I boarded a freight train and 
reached Laurenboro the day before yesterday. Here 
I am before you. Father, a wretched murderer; the 
unwilling slayer of my wife, penniless, with the 
scaffold staring me in the face. Would it not be as 
well to jump into the river and end it all.^^” 

“I must admit that your case is a painful one,” 
said Father Sinclair, who had by this time become 
deeply interested; “but jumping into the Brono will 
not improve matters as far as you are concerned. 
If you are arrested, you will only have to prove that 
the blow was accidental.” 

“Supposing that I cannot prove it.^*” added the 
visitor, supplicatingly. 

During all this interview Father Sinclair’s feelings 
were quite varied. A cold chill ran down his spine 
when he realized that he was there alone in the small 
parlor with a man who had killed his wife with a 
piano-wrench. But the frank and evidently truthful 
avowal of how the deed was done, modified his guilt 
in the priest’s judgment and enlisted his sympathies. 
Father Sinclair felt sorry for him. 

“Mr. Crookwood, I assure you, you have all my 

sympathies. Tell me what you wish me to do for 
237 


The Pastor 


you. I am willing to do anything I reasonably can. 
You look hungry and worn out.” 

The pastor went to the door and told Nanny to 
prepare some dinner for the stranger. 

“I don’t hke the looks of ’im, all the same, and 
beggin’ his Reverence’s pardon,” muttered Nanny to 
herself, as she started to build the fire. 

“ I have been living,” continued Crookwood, “for 
the past four days on wheat which I found in a 
freight car and on some food which a brakeman 
threw to me yesterday. But don’t misunderstand 
me; I am not looking for charity. I have money in 
New York. That is why I have called to see you. 
Father. May I ask you a favor 
“Certainly,” said Father Sinclair. 

“ Would it be too much trouble for you to write to 
Father Ringard and ask him, as discreetly as you 
can, to go to the Gotham Merchants’ Institute, draw 
my last month’s salary, and send it on to you here ? 
You should have an answer in three days. I will 
call the day after to-morrow.” 

The very reasonableness of the request appealed 
to the pastor. What else could he do but write to 
the man’s parish priest confidentially, and tell him 
what he undoubtedly knew already. He an swered : — 
“I will do that, sir. The letter shall go by to- 
night’s mail. Meanwhile, here is ten dollars to get 
you out of present difficulties. You will give it back 


Entertains a Visitor 


when your money arrives.” The pastor stood up. 

I have other duties to attend to just now. The 
housekeeper will give you some dinner. Call the day 
after to-morrow.” 

“ Thank you, Father, for your sympathies. When 
my money comes from Father Ringard, you may 
take out your ten dollars, and keep some for the poor 
of your parish in memory of my dear wife.” 

The whole interview, fainting-spell, and all, took 
up over an hour and a half of Father Sinclair’s 
precious time, but it would have been cruel not to 
help a man so far down as Crookwood. The pastor’s 
heart went out to such cases, and he did not regret 
the time he gave to them. 

Nanny did her share in the drama admirably. 
She prepared a good dinner and brought the man 
down from the parlor. But she told Father Sinclair 
when he returned at five o’clock, that ‘ ‘the stranger 
wasn’t so terribly hungry afther all me throuble, and 
I don’t like the looks of ’im, your Reverence.” 

“Why, Nanny.?” 

“I dunno, your Reverence; but I don’t.” 

And that was all the pastor could get out of Nanny. 

Father Sinclair went to his study after supper that 
night and wrote to Father Ringard: — 

Reverend and Dear Father : — 

Crookwood is here. He says the tragedy was alto- 
gether accidental. The man is evidently sincere; utterly 
239 


The Pastor Entertains 


broken down, and penniless. He asks your Reverence 
to call at the Gotham Merchants’ Library, where he was 
employed, and draw his last month’s salary (he does not 
care to trust any one else for obvious reasons), which you 
will send on to me here by the next mail. He will call for 
it the day after to-morrow. Will you have the kindness to 
do him this service ? Yours fraternally, 

Edward Sincl.\ir, P.P. 

The pastor walked down to the station and 
dropped the letter into the mail-car of the night train 
south. He returned to the glebe-house conscious of 
having done at least one act of charity that day. 


240 


CHAPTER XXI 


Silas and the Chief Have a Long Talk 

^T^HERE was nothing to do but to wait for the 
* letter from New York; and, although the 
interview cost Father Sinclair nearly two hours and 
a few emotions, he did not regret the episode, pro- 
vided it got Crookwood out of his peck of trouble. 

The Library and its prospects were just then 
occupying the mind of the pastor again. His last 
interview with Melgrove had shown that others were 
interested in its success as well as himself. A future 
was dawning on it more brilliant than he could have 
hoped for two months since. But the history of this 
two months’ work would justify any effort for its 
extension. 

The two library days a week crowded the Hall 
with readers, who came to exchange their books. 
In fact. Miss Garvey and her assistants began to see 
that they were not able to cope with the numbers, 
and had thought seriously of having an extra hour 
or two on Friday afternoons. The proposed innova- 
tion was laid before Father Sinclair, who simply 
said : — 

“If the Friday hour is needed to satisfy readers, 
241 


Silas and the Chief 


you may introduce it, Miss Garvey. Are your assist- 
ants willing to give that much more of their time.^” 

“I have spoken to them, and they are quite 
willing,” she replied. 

“Very well; so am I.” 

And the extra hour was determined on there and 
then. 

“We had a strange visitor yesterday morning,” 
said the chief; “a librarian from New York looking 
for employment.” 

“Did you hire him?” asked Father Sinclair, 
smiling. 

“No, indeed,” she answered; “I did not like the 
looks of him. The assistants said he seemed more 
like a tramp than a librarian.” 

“A circulating librarian, perhaps,” the pastor 
added. 

“ And Nanny told me he called at the glebe-house, 
and that he fainted in the parlor, and kept you nearly 
the whole afternoon; and that you ordered dinner 
for him when he wasn’t a bit hungry.” 

“ Nanny told you all that ? I must see Nanny 
about carrying tales.” 

“But please do not say that I told you. She will 
never tell me anything again.” 

The pastor, highly amused at the chief’s curiosity 
and at the housekeeper’s loquacity, walked around 
the Library Hall. 


242 


Have a Long Talk 

“Who sent the oil-painting?” he asked. 

“The Caysons — ^to cover that bare spot. It is 
supposed to be a masterpiece, and we are to dispose 
of it for the benefit of the Library. I have already 
spoken to the artist Wehrbach to clean and re- 
vamish it. I expect him here one of these days.” 

“ It may be a Titian,” said the pastor. 

“Or, better still, a Raffaele,” echoed the chief, 
who, ever since the painting reached the Library, 
had been reviewing her art-lore, trying to discover 
who the painter might be, or whether the work was 
only a reproduction. She was getting impatient to 
know what Wehrbach’s verdict would be. 

“Is Mr. Maglundy still a customer of yours?” 
he asked, when they had finished with the painting. 

“A splendid customer! He comes regularly every 
Wednesday. I expect him here at any moment now. 
He is as docile as a child; he lets me choose his 
books for him; and he is growing really amiable. 
I am going to get a few thousand dollars out of him 
for this Library before I have done with him.” 

“ How many thousands ? Try to get twenty-five,” 
said Father Sinclair, with a merry laugh. 

At that moment the services of the chief were 
needed at the Registration Desk, and off she went to 
her labor of love. She had the interests of the Li- 
brary at heart; the pastor felt sure that she would 
have an influence over the old millionaire. But he 
243 


Silas and ihe Chief 


had decided to let the Melgroves themselves give her 
the news of the projected foundation. 

When it was nearly time to close, Maglundy 
walked into the Hall, with his book under his arm, 
and, as usual, asked for the chief librarian. Miss 
Garvey wished that he would not do that every 
time; for the assistants were constantly chaffing her 
about it. But she really could not hint anything 
to Silas Maglundy. 

“D — 19 was a splendid book,’’ said the old man; 
“ I have had it out a week, but you gave me the privi- 
lege of renewal. I have come to renew it. I am not 
quite through with it.” 

“You might have kept it for another week, with- 
out renewal, Mr. Maglundy; that is what I said. I 
am glad to hear that ‘ The True Ministry of Wealth^ 
has pleased# you,” continued the chief. “It is just 
such books that wealthy people should read.” 

“Indeed, it is. It has given me many new hints. 
I feel it will convert me.” 

“I am sure it should,” responded the chief, not 
knowing whether the old man was poking fun or not. 
“It makes one feel like doing good works, like being 
generous, in fact, does it not.^” 

“Undoubtedly. That little love-tale that runs 
through it was so pleasant. I do not know how it 
ended. Did the millionaire and the other charac- 


244 


Have a Long Talk 

‘‘Hannah Millner?’’ suggested the chief. 

“Yes. Did they get married at last?” asked the 
old man, smiling. 

“O Mr. Maglundy, if I told you that you would 
lose all interest in the book. You must read it and 
find out for yourself.” 

“I shall, of course. The Free Library continues 
to be a success, I suppose?” 

“Tremendous success,” exclaimed the chief, who 
wa>6 glad to see the old millionaire taking an interest 
in it. “ But, as I told you last week, we may soon 
have to close. Look at these shelves — no books — 
all in circulation — readers going away disappointed. 
I do not know what we are going to do. I feel our 
friends will not desert us in this crisis.” 

“How interesting! Is Father Sinclair well these 
days?” 

“Very well, indeed,” said Miss Garvey, who 
could hardly help showing her resentment when she 
saw how the little old man quickly changed the 
subject every time she spoke of the needs of the 
Library. But she was determined he should not 
lose the thread so easily. “Father Sinclair is very 
well, but he feels just as I do — he fears for the 
Library.” 

“Indeed! I suppose you would need a lot of 
books to keep you from closing?” 

“We should have at least three thousand new 
245 


Silas and the Chief 


volumes at this moment,” said the chief, quietly. 

“Indeed! A large sum of money would be re- 
quired? Are books dear?” 

“Too dear for our class of readers to buy them. 
Publishers have a knack of keeping up the prices. 
I think it is a shame the way they sell.” 

“Indeed!” 

“When it does not take more than forty or fifty 
cents to print a book, the prices that we have to pay 
are altogether too high. Don’t you think so, Mr. 
Maglundy ?” 

“But I should fancy,” returned the old man, 
showing his business instinct, “ that, when you take 
large quantities, a rebate is given?” 

“ Certainly there is. But our Library is too small 
yet to secure all those privileges. If we were estab- 
lished on a large scale — as they are over at the Elzevir 
or at the Humboldt — ^we could claim all the rebates. 
Then we could buy whole editions and circulate them.” 

“ How much money would be required to put your 
Library on the large scale you should like ? ” 

The chief was not prepared for so practical a 
question. But her experience at the Humboldt 
served her well. 

“I could not say at once, Mr. Maglundy,” she 
replied, settling down to business, “ but I know that 
the Humboldt cost the donors nearly one hundred 

and fifty thousand dollai-s. Of course, they had to 
24G 


Have a Long Talk 


buy the building and reconstruct the interior. That 
work took nearly a third of the amount. However, 
I should think,” she continued, after reflecting a 
moment, “that a hundred thousand would put the 
Laurenboro Free Library in a position to cope with 
both the Elzevir and the Humboldt.” 

“Indeed! These are interesting details. I think 
I shall have to leave you. I will try to finish D — 19 
this week.” 

He started toward the door, and then, turning on 
his heel, asked Miss Garvey: — 

“I suppose the Elzevir and the Humboldt have 
given some form of acknowledgment to their bene- 
factors 

The chief paused for a moment, and thought, 
“ What does he mean .^” But it suddenly dawned on 
her, and she hastened to answer: — 

“O yes; a marble slab stands in the hallway of 
the Humboldt, with the names of the donors inlaid 
in golden letters.” 

“Indeed!” said the old millionaire. “It was put 
there — not for the donors’ sake, I suppose; but, you 
understand, it encourages others when they see how 
generosity has been recognized.” 

“You vain old thing!” thought Miss Garvey; but 
she assured him, “No, sir; it was put there for the 
donors’ sake; and that is what I should do here were 

such a windfall to come.” 

247 


Silas and the Chief 


“Should you?” he asked, sweetly. 

“Most certainly; and not your common marble 
either, but the purest Carrara. Or, better still, a 
bronze tablet, with raised letters on it, that would 
resist the wear and tear of ages.” 

Maglundy shook hands with the chief and went 
home. 

The assistants were waiting for her at the Receiving 
Desk as usual, and were dying to know the gist of the 
long conversation. But Miss Garvey simply said : — 

“Baiting the hooks. Great schemes. Wait, ladies.” 

The ladies did not want to wait. Imagine a whole 
week, and perhaps longer, without news of the Ma- 
glundy-Garvey schemes. It was altogether too much 
to ask them to do ; and they were quite resentful. The 
chief would give them no further information; so 
they went home at loggerheads with her. 

Miss Garvey started down town to the Royalview 
bookstore, and bought a copy of *^The True Ministry 
of W ealtk,'^ gilt-edged and morocco-bound. She wrote 
in it “ With the compliments of the chief librarian of 
the Laurenboro Free Library,” and then ordered 
the messenger to take it that very night to the corner 
of Howarth and Buell Streets. 

She had had no inkling as yet of the Melgrove- 
Sinclair-Cayson-Graymer-Molvey scheme; nor did 
she know till later how well she baited her hooks 
that day. 


248 


CHAPTER XXII 


The Capitulation of Burton 

npHE Times that same evening furnished inter- 
esting reading to Father Sinclair. A letter from 
young Newell asked the editor to put the public on 
their guard against a plausible impostor who had 
victimized the Elzevir to the extent of fifty dollars; 
he represented himself as a hbrarian from New York, 
stranded in Laurenboro. Another letter from the 
Superintendent of the Great Western asked him to 
warn the public against a notorious character who 
was passing himself off as the master mechanic of a 
western road and had collected nearly two hundred 
dollars from the men in the shops. A third letter 
from the minister of the Hayden Street Tabernacle 
invited the public not to listen to a villain who is 
posing as the murderer of his wife, and who, with 
a view to obtaining money, may try to work on the 
sympathies of Laurenboro. 

Father Sinclair put the paper down. 

“That beats Bannagher!” he exclaimed. “He 
worked on mine to the extent of ten dollars. The 
arrant rascal. And what a consummate actor. 
Nanny, Nanny, come here quick!” 

249 


The Capitulation 

The housekeeper ran upstairs, thinking the house 
was on fire. 

“Did you call me, your Reverence?” 

“You were right, after all, Nanny. That was an 
impostor we had fainting in the parlor yesterday.” 

“I know’d it, your Reverence; I know’d it.” 

“How did you know it?” 

“I dunno. There was sumthin’!” 

“Nanny, you are wiser than your parish priest. 
He deceived me.” 

With this testimony to her perspicacity, Nanny 
went back to her kitchen prouder than if the pastor 
had been made a bishop. 

The Elzevir, the minister, and the railway super- 
intendent had wired to the Gotham Merchants’ for 
information, and the answer to all three was: “Im- 
postor; no such man known here.” 

But Father Sinclair could not get over the fainting- 
spell as a scheme for obtaining money. In the light 
of after events, things became plainer. It would have 
been so easy to get back the loan when the money 
arrived from New York. However, the ten dollars 
were gone; but there was still a letter to come from 
Father Ringard. It came the following day: — 

Dear Father Sinclair : — 

I am mystified at the use of my name in this affair. 
There is no Crookwood among my parishioners. There 
has been no murder committed in this part of the city 
for years. To gratify you, I ’phoned to the Grotham 
250 


Of Barton 


Merchants’. There is no such name on their pay-roll. 

You are evidently being hoaxed. How much did you 
give him ? Yours sympathetically, 

W. F. Ringard. 

“Hoaxed,” was the word, and ten dollars was the 
price. Burton was in the post-office while Father 
Sinclair was reading the letter. 

‘ ‘Did you see last night’s T imes about the clevei* tramp 
who is prowling around Laurenboro?” he asked. 

“Read that,” answered the pastor, handing the 
editor the letter. 

Burton nearly dropped to the pavement with 
laughter. 

“What, you caught, too. Father.^” 

“Of course, I was caught. Who would not be? 
That man is a genius. It was worth ten dollars to 
see him in the fainting-scene.” 

Burton invited himself to the glebe-house at seven, 
and the pastor went home, more determined than 
ever to carry out his resolution, so often made and 
so often broken, to let Nanny take care of tramps. 
However, he could not get it out of his head that 
there were exceptional tramps — and that Crookwood 
was one of them. 

Burton’s visit that evening was an eventful one — 
for Burton. He formally asked Father Sinclair to 
receive him into the Catholic Church. 

“Do you realize all that your request means?” 

“I think I do. Father.” 

251 


The Capitulation 


The pastor handed him a “ Profession of Faith” to 
glance over. The editor perused it carefully, and 
answered : — 

“I see no difficulty in all this. I have seized the 
idea of an infallible Church ruling the spiritual 
world. That argument of yours — the Church can- 
not err — has made everything easy. She has God’s 
pledge for it. All this must then be true. Because 
the Church cannot err, if she told me that black was 
white, I would believe it, and would say that my 
sense of sight had failed. I admit that there are 
many dogmas of the Catholic Faith — the Real 
Presence, for example — that are beyond my com- 
prehension, but I realize that in this life, with our 
finite intellects, we cannot know everything; just as 
we cannot see and hear everything, because our 
sight and hearing are limited. We should have 
quite a contract on hand were we to undertake to 
sound God’s mysteries with our short tape-line.” 

“ That is the way to reason. Burton,” returned the 
pastor. “But you can appreciate the difficulties of 
people who would join the Church, but who will not 
submit their reason to her infallible teaching. And 
with that hideous Reformation cloud continually 
before them, and the presence of so many warring 
sects in the world, all clamoring for recognition, you 
can understand how the difficulties are increased. 
The Church does not err; never erred; cannot err. 

252 


Of Burton 


In the sixteenth century it was not her dogmas 
that needed reformation, but the lives of a few of 
her children.” 

“ It was those visits to Gottingen Ward, during the 
blizzard last month, that put the finishing touch to 
my case,” said Burton. 

“Well, I congratulate you. I have been looking 
for this for some time. You shall be received into 
the Church whenever you like. Do you wish to do 
the deed publicly or privately?” 

“Any way you please. Father. Name the date, 
and the hour and I will be on hand.” 

“Then by all means let us have it in public. 
You might read your Profession of Faith next Sun- 
day before the nine o’clock Mass; receive your first 
Communion on Monday; and I feel sure the Arch- 
bishop would confirm you in St. Paul’s a week from 
Sunday. How would that programme suit you ?” 

“Perfectly; and I thank you heartily.” 

The following day was Saturday. The Times 
published this simple note: — 

Mr. Hiram Burton, editor of this paper, 
will abjure the Protestant tenets at the nine 
o’clock Mas!^ to-morrow, in Saint Paul’s 
Church. 

It was printed in small type in the “Personal 
Column.” But everybody reads the Personal Col- 
umn — it gives people so much to gossip about. 

253 


The Capittilation 


The curiosity of Laurenboro was aroused; and on 
Sunday morning St. Paul’s Catholic Church was 
crowded. Maglundy had been invited by the pastor 
and was in his pew. Not a murmur was heard while 
the neophyte was reading in a clear voice the long 
formula. When he placed his hand on the Bible and, 
with an accent of conviction, swore, “ So help me 
God and these His Holy Gospels,” the silence of 
the tomb rested on the people. 

The pastor took occasion of the event to say a few 
telling words on the obligation of seeking the truth, 
and the further obligation of embracing it fearlessly 
once we have found it. He spoke of the peace of 
mind that followed one’s entrance into the Catholic 
Church, thanked God for the noble example that 
had been set this morning, and asked prayers for him 
who was to seal his covenant on the following day 
by receiving the Bread of Angels. 

Maglundy left the church immediately after the 
sermon. Many of the congregation, who were aware 
of his antipathy to the editor of the Times, made 
their surmises : so much so that his exit was the topic 
of conversation after Mass. But Father Sinclair, 
who knew the old man better than any of them, felt 
that there must have been some other reason for his 
going out. Maglundy did not carry his antipathy 
that far. The pastor knew he was deeply wounded, 

but he also knew that he hated no man on earth. 

254 


Of Bttrton 


If Burton were to extend the hand of friendship, the 
old miner would be the first to clasp it. They had 
never met. There could be no rivalry between them. 
Burton had brains; so far Maglundy had shown that 
he had only money, and had been foolish with it. 
That more than anything else accounted for the 
trenchant pen of the one, and the injured feehngs 
of the other. 

Mrs. Melgrove called at the glebe-house to tell the 
pastor that the gentlemen interested in the Library 
had had another meeting, and that the prospects 
were never so brilliant. A third meeting would be 
held on Monday, to which the pastor was invited. 
Mr. Maglundy was also to be there to meet Cayson 
and the rest of them. 

“May I bring Mr. Burton .5^” asked Father Sin- 
clair. “ I am anxious that he should meet Maglundy; 
just as I am anxious to get the editor interested in 
our works as soon as possible.” 

Burton went over with the priest to the Melgroves, 
and there met old friends, who congratulated him 
on the recent event. Everybody knew Burton. For 
years he had been the best known man in Lauren- 
boro. A brilliant writer, he had brought the Times 
up to its present literary standard; a conscientious 
journalist, he had made it the terror of evil-doers and 
shams. The interests of Laurenboro were always 
uppermost with Burton. He was a poor man, but 
255 


The Capitalation 


an honorable one, and he would be a valuable ac- 
quisition to the Catholic forces of the metropolis. 
That is why he was so welcome at the Melgroves, 
where kindred spirits greeted him. 

Horace Melgrove came down from his room to 
assist at the meeting. They were all waiting for the 
millionaire, when a note addressed to the hostess 
arrived, which cast a gloom over ever^^body. It was 
from the house surgeon of the Pro\idence Hospital 
to say that Mr. Silas Maglundy had been removed 
thither that afternoon, with appendicitis, and was in 
Room H, private ward. He could not possibly be at 
the Melgroves’ that evening. 

“Poor old man,” said Burton; “it may go hard 
with him.” 

That was the sentiment of all present, of none 
more than Father Sinclair, who immediately went 
to the telephone and told the Sister in charge, that 
he should be in the private ward. Room H, in less 
than an hour. 

“ Gentlemen, that explains his leaving the church 
yesterday morning, does it not ?” ventured the pastor, 
when he returned to the drawing-room. 

“We are all sorry for Mr. Maglundy, and hope 
this illness is only a passing indisposition; but we 
may as well get down to business,” said Melgrove; 
and, addressing himself chiefly to the priest, he be- 
gan:— 


25G 


Of Barton 


“We had a meeting here on Friday last, and we 
came to some very practical conclusions in connec- 
tion with the Library scheme. Fifty thousand dollars 
are assured. 

“ Mr. Robert Cayson will contribute twenty thou- 
sand dollars; Mr. David Graymer, ten thousand; 
Mr. Hugh Molvey, ten thousand; Mrs. Melgrove and 
myself, five thousand; Helen’s insurance, five thou- 
sand. 

“That makes altogether a good round sum,” 
continued Melgrove. “We had intended to-night 
to bring the pressure of example to bear upon our 
friend Mr. Maglundy, whom, however. Providence 
is reserving for another occasion. The matter, even 
as it stands now, is quite satisfactory. With the 
interest of fifty thousand safely invested, we ought 
to be able to do something worthy of our Church and 
our city.” 

“Gentlemen,” said Father Sinclair, “this is very 
satisfactory, and as the representative of St. Paul’s, 
I thank you. I should suggest that a committee be 
appointed to see to the investment of the money and 
have an eye on expenditures. We all realize that the 
present site, however valuable it was to begin the 
work with, is, under altered conditions, no longer 
suitable. A large building will have to be secured, 
centrally situated, and easy of access for all classes 
both in winter and summer.” 

257 


The Capitulation 


“Where would you suggest?” asked Cayson. 

“I should fancy some place in the neighborhood 
of Howarth Street,” answered Father Sinclair. The 
site was a central one, and had appealed to him 
frequently during the years he was organizing his 
Young Men’s Club. 

“That’s where our friend Maglundy lives,” inter- 
rupted Burton. “The different lines converge on 
Howarth Street.” 

“Excellent idea,” added Graymer. “I think 
Father Sinclair’s suggestion should be carried out; 
and before we proceed further, I beg to nominate 
Messrs. Melgrove, Cayson, Molvey, and Father 
Sinclair, to act as a committee pro fern.” 

“I move in amendment,” said Melgrove, “that 
the name of Mr. Graymer be added to the list.” 

“ If I may be permitted,” interrupted the pastor, 
“ I should like to move an amendment to the amend- 
ment, namely, that the name of the editor of the 
Laurenboro Times be added to those already 
given. Solid reasons, gentlemen, urge me to make 
this motion. Mr. Burton, even as a non-Catholic, 
always showed us fair-play. Now that greater light 
has been given him, his services will be all the more 
precious to us.” 

Both amendments were carried unanimously, and 
the Committee decided to begin quietly to select a 
site. There was no hurry. The foundation of the 
258 


Of Burton 


Library was now assured, and it was to the advan- 
tage of the work to secure the best possible terms all 
along the line. 

“Gentlemen,” said Melgrove, when the motion 
was put to adjourn, “there is a newspaper man in 
the room.” All laughed. “Don’t mention our 
plans yet. Burton. You may say that fifty thousand 
dollars have been donated to the Laurenboro Free 
Library. That will be enough to set the citizens 
a-talking and, perhaps, the Directors of the Elzevir 
a-thinking.” 

The meeting being over, the gentlemen went to 
their homes, and Father Sinclair took a sleigh for 
the Providence Hospital. 


259 


1 


i 

\ 


i 


I 


CHAPTER XXIII 


The Millionaire Sees Things from a New 
Standpoint 

r I IHE Providence was one of the prominent insti- 
tutions in Laurenboro. During the thirty 
years of its existence, the Sisters in charge had cared 
for the sick, regardless of creed or condition. The 
heroism of their charity at the bedsides of the dying, 
during all those years, had touched many hearts 
hardened by sin and misery, and gave their work 
the special character of a ministry of souls. But 
their zeal in this direction earned for them from a few 
officious bigots the charge of sectarianism ; and, not- 
withstanding Father Sinclair’s efforts to secure 
Government aid for them, they who gave their lives 
and services for the public good were denied a share 
in the public funds. However, they did not lack 
public sympathy. Relying for their support on the 
income derived from their private patients and from 
the interest accruing to them from a few thousands 
left as a legacy, the Sisters had kept their institution 
in the lead, in spite of a large and fully-endowed city 
hospital in the North End. 

m 


The Millionaire Sees Things 


The private apartments, thanks to the generosity 
of a few families, were models of elegance and were 
equipped with all home comforts. Room H had 
long been known as the cosiest room in the surgical 
ward of the Providence. And it would have re- 
mained so probably, had not the danger of lurking 
germs obliged the Sisters to keep pace with modern 
methods. Bare floors, glass tables, antiseptic wall- 
paper, germicidal linen, and the dozens of other 
indispensable needs of recent science replaced the 
heavy carpets and rich curtains, which had given 
the little room its home-like aspect. Happily, the 
golden sunlight streamed in, unimpeded, even in 
the shortest days of winter. 

Maglundy was in bed, and apparently suffering 
great pain. He held out his hand to Father Sinclair. 

“ I am so glad you have come to see me, Fawther,” 
said the old man. 

The sympathetic pastor expressed surprise at the 
sudden turn things had taken, and asked what the 
physicians purposed doing. 

“They are going to operate the day after to- 
morrow; and they tell me I shall be all right after- 
wards. But I am afraid I shall not get over this. 

I am an old man, and I fear that the end has come.” 

Maglundy heaved a heavy sigh. 

Father Sinclair tried to banish these thoughts 
from his mind, and told liim he should call on the 




From a New Standpoint 

morrow. It was, very possibly, only a passing indis- 
position he intimated; but it was customary for 
people about to undergo operations to settle up their 
accounts with the Master of Life before they went 
to the surgeon’s table. 

Maglundy heaved another sigh. 

“Of course,” added the priest, “this is only a 
precautionary measure. Undergoing operations 
nowadays, with our improved surgical methods, is 
an easy matter. Still, it is always well to be on the 
safe side.” 

The patient saw the logic of the argument, and 
said he should be glad if the priest called to see him 
the next day. 

“But I am afraid to die — ^just think of it! — to 
die — ^to leave this world forever!” The old man 
groaned. 

“ You are not going to die, Mr. Maglundy,” said 
Father Sinclair, buttoning his fur coat. “I shall 
call to-morrow, after the doctors have made their 
rounds. Meanwhile, look over your past life ” 

“My past life!” exclaimed the patient. “My 
whole long life, with its years and years ! How shall 
I ever begin the task?” 

“ I will give you all the help you need,” answered 
the pastor, who rose to leave the room, saying, as he 
closed the door, that he would think of him in the 
morning during Mass. 

. 263 


The Millionaire Sees Things 


“ Thank you, Fawther. But I am afraid to die — 
to die — to leave all!’’ And he continued this refrain 
audibly while the priest was walking down the 
corridor. 

The worm of remorse had begun its w^ork. It 
needed some fell blow like this to bring the old miner 
to a sense of his duty. It had come at last; and the 
pastor was going to profit by the occasion to make 
Maglundy straighten up his accounts with his 
Maker. He told the Sisters to call him if the patient 
in Room H became worse during the night, and went 
home sympathizing with the present plight of the 
old millionaire, who realized vividly at last that gold 
mines and Trans-Siberian stocks do not give one 
immunity from death. 

There was no immediate danger, “only an inor- 
dinate fear,” the physician ’phoned to Father Sin- 
clair, who set himself immediately to give further 
thought to the Library scheme — a scheme that was 
progressing beyond his most sanguine expectations. 
He addressed cards to the various publishers for 
their latest catalogues, and to other libraries for 
their rules and regulations. He proposed making 
the Laurenboro Free Library a model in every 
respect. The addition of the Reference Section 
devoted to controversy, and a large Reading Room, 
entered into his plans, and was quite decided 
upon. 


From a New Standpoint 


He was about to retire for the night when Nanny 
brought him a note that had been in her pocket since 
the early morning. It was from Miss Garvey, who 
was apparently beside herself with joy. Wehrbach 
the artist had examined the Cayson painting, and 
had pronounced it worth its weight in gold. 

“ Just think of it,” she wrote in a postscript, “worth 
its weight in gold!” 

“ I wonder whether Wehrbach included the frame 
in this,” mused the pastor, smiling. “However, 
Wehrbach is a first-rate authority, and his opinion is 
worth something. There may be truth in what he 
says. If so, we can afford to wait.” 

The following morning he went over to the studio 
and interviewed the artist himself. 

“Yas, dot iss a miasterpeez, vor zertain. I haf 
nod it cleaned yed. But you gan vor yourzelf zee. 
Loog ad dot grouping, undt dot raccourci, undt 
dot lighd undt shade. Id vill dake me two or dhree 
tays to ged dot famish off, I may zome name zee, 
undt dot vill zettle id.” 

Father Sinclair’s own critical tastes had told him 
all this before; there had been no reason, at least for 
the moment, for the enthusiastic note of the chief 
librarian. 

“ I hope that you will discover that it is a Correggio. 
It looks like his work,” said the pastor, smiling, as 

he was leaving the studio. 

265 


The Millionaire Sees Things 


“ Mein Liehen ! Vhat a glory iv we haf a Gorrege 
in Laurenporo!” 

The enthusiastic Alsatian had not time to complete 
his remarks; for Father Sinclair had started for the 
Providence to keep his appointment with Maglundy. 

The patient had passed another sleepless night 
and was still in great pain. The priest did not lose 
any time in preliminaries, but went straight to the 
point. 

“ Mr. Maglundy, I have come to help you carry to 
out the little programme ^e arranged last night. 
You will make your confession now. To-morrow 
morning I shall bring you Holy Communion; and 
then you will be ready for the operation.” 

The old man was in an agony; for he had been 
passing through an ordeal more distressing by far 
than that of mere physical pain — ^he had been trying to 
examine his conscience. It is no child’s play to go 
back over a period of forty years of absolute religious 
indifference and neglect; to note how often one has 
broken God’s commands, despised the precepts of 
His Church, shirked one’s responsibilities, ignored 
one’s obligations, while the moral sanctions so long 
thrust into the background keep forcing themselves 
on one’s attention. While the old miner tossed 
restlessly in his bed, acts long since forgotten, deeds 
which made him blush, surged up in his mind. His 
youth and early manhood passed before him like a 
266 


From a New Standpoint 


nightmare. As far back as he could look down the 
long vista of years, he seemed to see God listening 
to words, sounding thoughts and weighing motives 
which were in opposition to His laws. How very 
long the list appeared! And yet, after such a lapse 
of years, how many things there must be which he 
had forgotten, but which were all posted up against 
him in his page of the Book of Life ! How he wished 
he could get but a glimpse at that dreadful page and 
see what the Recording Angel had marked down 
against him during the long years he had lived away 
from God! How different the world seemed to him 
now that he was in danger of leaving it. How plainly 
he saw that all his life long he had been avoiding 
the only realities in order to run after shadows. 

The patient turned to the priest, who was putting 
on his purple stole, and with a look of supplication, 
asked : — 

“Fawther, how am I to begin? I am utterly 
helpless.” 

But he was taken in hand there and then, and in 
less than half an hour the pastor was on his way back 
to the glebe-house. 

That evening the Sisters prepared a little altar in 
Room H, with candles and crucifix. When Ma- 
glundy heard the tingle of the bell next morning, 
and the recital of prayers in the corridor, he made 
an effort to get out of bed and throw himself on his 
267 


The Millionaire Sees Things 


knees; and he would have done so, had not the nurse 
ordered him to stay where he was. 

A few minutes later the old miner received the 
Bread of Angels for the first time in forty years. 
Father Sinclair told him to profit by the precious 
moments during which the Divine Guest was with 
him, and to ask God to give him back again the 
faith of his childhood. 

The surgical operation was a simple one. The 
patient was weak from fear of death rather than 
from any other cause. When he recovered from the 
effects of the ether, and found himself alive and back 
again in Room H, his spirits revived. The old-time 
smile appeared on his lips, and he was settfing him- 
self comfortably in a sea of pillows when the nurse 
brought him in a large bouquet of bleeding-hearts, 
with a card bearing the sympathies of the chief 
librarian. 

“That dear chief,” he murmured, while the 
flowers were being laid on the table beside him, 
“and it was she who sent me this handsome book 
last Wednesday. May God bless her!” 

The old millionaire closed his eyes and fell asleep, 
the first time since he reached the Providence. 
His recovery was assured. It took more than an 
attack of appendicitis to shake the vigorous frame 
of a California miner. But it was evident from his 

conversations and his new views of things that a 
268 


From a New Standpoint 


spiritual revolution had taken place. Maglundy 
was a changed man. 

Father Sinclair was his closest friend after that. 
Every day the pastor came to see him; the same 
smile of welcome always greeted his entry into 
Room H. 

“ I got the fright of my life the day the ambulance 
came after me to bring me here,” returned Ma- 
glundy, a few days later, to the priest who had seated 
himself for a short talk. “ I once fell fifty feet down 
a shaft in California, but it was nothing to the scare 
I got last Monday.” 

“What scared you.^” asked the pastor. 

“Death, of coui*se!” exclaimed the old man, vig- 
orously. “ Just think of my dying in the state I was 
in after forty years of wickedness.” 

“But that is all forgotten now, I trust. God has 
given you a great grace.” 

“ And one that I am not going to forget. Fawther, 
I have turned over a new leaf. I understand now 
why you were so anxious about me and about my 
going to church. But you were not severe enough. 
Old sinners like me should be taken by the coat 
collar.” 

“We are only God’s instruments,” replied the 
priest. “ We can suggest, urge, exhort ; but men have 
their free will. All we can do is to leave them to 

themselves and to God’s grace.” 

269 


The Millionaire Sees Things 


“I understand,” persisted the patient; “but there 
should be strong remedies to meet desperate cases.” 

“That is just what people do not want, Mr. 
Maglundy. If we chide them privately for their 
sinful hves, they are insulted; if we preach them a 
strong sermon from the pulpit, they go awa;y offended, 
and threaten, some of them, to leave the Church. 
They never consider that their eternal interests are 
at stake and that this is the motive that urges us to 
speak. It is very often at that moment that God is 
good enough to take them in hand. He sends them 
some severe trial or shock to bring them back to 
their senses.” 

“ He sent me one, didn’t He ?” echoed the patient. 

The past three days had evidently begun an epoch 
in the life of the millionaire. 

Father Sinclair had The True Ministry of WealtW 
in his hand, admiring its rich binding and the dedi- 
cation on the fly-leaf, when the door opened gently, 
and the porter brought in a fresh bouquet — this 
time of roses — with another card of sympathy from 
the chief librarian. 

“Isn’t she a fine, good woman?” remarked 
Maglundy, when he read the card and handed it to 
the pastor. 

“ One of the best and most devoted in my parish. 
She is doing a great work in that Library; and before 
long she will be able to do much more.” 

270 


From a New Standpoint 


“How’s that?” asked the patient, almost sitting 
up in his bed. 

“By the way, Mr. Maglundy, you disappointed 
Melgrove and the rest of us last Monday. The very 
day you were taken ill, a meeting of our five leading 
Catholics, with our new convert Burton, was held 
at the Melgroves’, and they decided to contribute 
fifty thousand dollars to put the Library on a perma- 
nent basis. It was a dreadful disappointment when 
the note came from the physician to say that you 
had been brought here.” 

“And what else did they decide?” asked the 
patient, intently. 

“ To ask you to be one of the foundei-s with them. 
They wish to raise seventy-five thousand, and they 
look to you, as the wealthiest, for the other twenty- 
five thousand ” 

“They shall have it, Fawther,” replied the old 
man earnestly. “The danger of death I was in — 
when I think of the escape I had! — ^has taken away 
all value from money for me. All rank nonsense, 
Fawther! And they can have more if they need it.” 

“ This is very kind of you, sir. You should notify 
Mr. Melgrove. The gentlemen interested in the 
work could come to some decision as to plans. 
This generous gift of yours would bring matters to 
a head all the more quickly.” 

“Is Mr. Melgrove able to be out yet ?” 

271 


The Millionaire Sees Things 


“I do not know. However, I shall ask his wife 
and the chief Ubrarian to call on you.” 

“That dear chief!” sighed the invalid. “Every 
day she sent me flowers. What can I do for her.^ 
How can I show her my gratitude? Has Miss 
Garvey any relatives, Fawther?” 

“None whatever.” 

“Shall you be surprised if I tell you that I have 
serious thoughts of setthng down in life?” — it was 
an old man of sixty who was speaking — “you do 
not know what a lonely life I led in that big house 
on Howarth and Buell Streets.” 

Father Sinclair seized the whole situation in a 
twinkling. It came to him suddenly — like the tradi- 
tional thunder-clap. The very thought of a possi- 
ble romance between the old millionaire and his 
chief librarian was startling enough to one who 
had been accustomed to such surprises all his life; 
but it startled him rather for its prosaic features. 
This was not a case of snowy December and youth- 
ful May joining hands and trusting to the future for 
fair weather. It was rather sturdy December link- 
ing fortunes with mellow August, the month that 
comes just before “the sere, the yellow leaf.” 

The prospect was rosy enough. It was of that 
subdued tint which the knowing ones look upon as 
a good fast color. Mary Garvey had long since lost 
the illusions of youth. From the fact that sh^ was 
272 


From a New Standpoint 


living as far back as the Civil War — no one ever 
dared to investigate further — it could fairly be pre- 
sumed that the day-dreams of early years had left 
her. She was now a staid little lady of an age to 
be a cheering helpmate for an old millionaire in the 
autumn of his days. So the pastor could not, for 
the life of him, see any objection to such a union. 

But this was only idle speculation. From the 
very first year of his ministry. Father Sinclair had 
resolved that match-making should never be of his 
province, and he vowed inwardly that he would not 
begin at this late date. So he merely remarked : — 

“ Mr. Maglundy, the lady you mentioned is an 
admirable little woman — one in a thousand. I have 
known her for years. I know also that her income 
will suffice for her support for the rest of her life. 
But that suggestion of yours appeals to me. Your 
position in life is not an enviable one. As you say, 
you have a home, but you have not the comforts of 
home life. You will need a stay in your declining 
years.” 

“ Bless my soul!” thought Maglundy, in confusion, 
“the Fawther has got hold of it.” 

“Of course,” continued the pastor, “this is none 
of my business; but I fancy your suggestion is worth 
some thought.” 

“Bless your heart! — ^it is all thought out,” an- 
swered the old man, bravely, “But who ever told 


The Millionaire Secs Things 


you my secret, Fawther?” he asked, trying to smile. 

Maglundy had blurted out his own secret. His 
question was only a feint to throw his interlocutor 
off the track. But he had at that moment to do with 
a shrewder judge of men than himself. 

“ No one,'' retorted the pastor. “ I am only second- 
ing a suggestion of yours, which I think is worthy 
of some consideration. Meanwhile, think over it.” 

Father Sinclair felt that the millionaire had food 
enough for reflection, and he took leave of the 
invahd, promising to return soon. 

Maglundy was in ecstasies. He was sitting in an 
easy chair when the house-surgeon on his rounds 
found that his temperature w^as somewhat higher, 
and wanted to know what he had eaten. 

“ Only what the good Sisters gave me,” answ^ered 
the patient, innocently. 

The physician told the nurse in charge that he had 
found the appendicitis case in Room H very much 
worse and feverish. He had better lie down and 
keep his mind and body quiet. 

The nurse came in with war in her eyes. 

“You must go right back to bed, sir. I shall 
have to apply more ice-bags.” 

“You wouldn’t do that. Sister, to an old man like 
me, would you ? ” he asked appealingly. 

Maglundy hated the ice-bags, and the nurse had 
to fly and hide her laughter. He wept back to bed 
m 


From a New Standpoint 


and kept his body quiet; but he could not control 
his thoughts so easily. He began to muse: — 

“Fawther Sinclair must have got hold of this secret 
somehow. I never mentioned it to any one. But 
how am I, Silas Maglundy, ever going to propose 
marriage to Miss Garvey?” - • • • How shall I go 
about it ? . •• Where shall I begin ?” 

These and a hundred other questions puzzled the 
brain of old Maglundy, who did not know how easy 
the task was going to be. The toils had been set so 
cunningly that he walked right into them. 


876 



CHAPTER XXIV 


Mrs. Melgrove Gives the Chief a Few Emotions 

T T was late that night when Father Sinclair 
reached the glebe-house; but he proceeded at 
once to deliver Maglundy’s message. Mrs. Mel- 
grove answered the telephone herself. 

“ I have just come from the Providence, and Mr. 
Maglundy would like to see Miss Garvey and your- 
self some time to-morrow, if possible. The old 
gentleman has good news to communicate.” 

“I fear Miss Garvey cannot come to-morrow. 
She will be engaged in the Library all day. I am 
going to take my husband out for a drive in the 
afternoon, and we may call at the hospital.” 

“Better still,” answered the pastor. “I shall be 
over to Ashburne Avenue in a couple of days.” 

At three, the following day, Melgrove, who had 
begun to walk around, went downstairs and out 
into the fur-covered sleigh waiting for him at the 
door. A brisk drive down the avenue and round 
Royal view Terrace was a pleasant change for an 
invalid who had been confined to his room for several 
weeks. It had been one of Melgrove’s favorite 
walks when he was in health. The air was clear 
277 


Mrs* Melgrove Gives the Chief 

and soft, and the Terrace was crowded with tobog- 
gans and their blanket-covered owners, gliding down 
the icy sides like the wind. 

A turn up Pinewood Avenue brought the sleigh 
to the visitors’ entrance of the Providence, where 
Melgrove was helped out by his wife and the coach- 
man. They climbed the steps slowly, and were soon 
in the elevator leading to the private ward. 

Maglundy was in bed. His temperature was a 
little up, and he had just been sponged. His eyes 
opened wide when he saw the Sister, with the 
Melgroves, entering the room. 

“My turn to come to see you, Mr. Maglundy, is 
it not.^” said Melgrove, cheerily, as he went over to 
take the hand that had been held out to greet him. 

“ How very kind of you ! The Sisters have threat- 
ened me with more ice-bags if I stir. I cannot get 
out to welcome you; so please sit down and make 
yourselves at home.” 

“What a lovely bouquet!” exclaimed Mrs. Mel- 
grove, going over to the little table. 

The card was lying beside the vase, and the visitor 
could not help reading the name on it. It nearly 
took her breath away; but she kept her own counsel. 

“ Yes, that dear girl has been sending them every 
day. Wasn’t it kind of her.^^” 

“ It was indeed, really kind,” answered the visitor. 
“Mr. Melgrove,” began the patient, “I regret that I 

278 


A Few Emotions 


was not at the meeting held at your residence a week 
ago. But I trust I may still be useful. Father 
Sinclair told me that you had raised fifty thousand 
dollars and that you needed twenty-five thousand 
more to carry out your plans. I will give you that 
amount whenever you want it. The stocks that I 
own may be turned into cash at any time. Your 
Committee has simply to make the demand; and I 
trust that the Library will prosper. That book you 
see there on the table has done me a world of good.'’ 

Mrs. Melgrove, with the resistless but delicate 
curiosity peculiar to her sex, raised the cover, and 
saw the chief librarian’s name on the fly-leaf. She 
was thunderstruck. 

“I have changed my ways of thinking on many 
things since I came back from the jaws of death,” 
continued the old man, seriously. “ Isn’t this world 
a poor affair after all.^^ And how quickly we may 
leave it. You could tell us something about that, 
could you not, Melgrove.^” 

“Yes, I had a rather close call myself. But that 
is all over now. Has the physician told you when 
you may leave the hospital?” 

“ I think I shall be here for some time yet. But 
if you will write out a cheque on Slegman & Co., I 
can sign it here.” 

“I will do that, Mr Maglundy, and in the name 

of our Committee I thank you for your generosity. 

279 


Mrs^ Mclgrove Gives the Chief 


We intended to make only a short call. I know it 
fatigues you to entertain visitors. So Mrs. Melgrove 
and I will say good day and speedy recovery.” 

“Thank you! thank you!” said the old man. 

The visitors walked down the corridor to the 
elevator, and the patient tried to get the ice-bags 
into position before the nurse came. 

“Who sent Maglundy those flowers every day.^ 
and that book.?^ — what was the name on the fly- 
leaf?” asked Melgrove, as they flew through the 
streets and around the Terrace again. 

“I will not give you one word of information,” 
was the quick response. “Do you want to be as 
wise as your wife, dear?” 

With feminine instinct, she had been for some 
time suspecting Miss Mary Garvey’s little scheming. 
Words dropped now and then in conversation with 
the chief, and the play of the emotions on her face — 
which in Miss Garvey’s case was truly the mirror of 
the soul — ^had revealed to her, in recent weeks, more 
than Mrs. Melgrove cared to say. She knew that if 
her husband ever got wind of it, Mary Garvey 
would have to submit to no end of teasing. Besides, 
the more she thought the matter over, the better a 
match of that kind pleased her. Her dearest friend, 
Mary Garvey, would make an ideal chatelaine for 
the great empty mansion on Howarth and Buell Streets. 
And all this time the shrewd little lady was not 
280 


A Few Emotions 


aware that at least two — Mrs. Melgrove and her 
pastor — had seen through her scheming. 

Melgrove drove down through Laurenboro to the 
insurance offices, where he was greeted with a hearty 
welcome by his assistants. He wrote out the cheque 
for twenty -five thousand dollars, made it payable to 
Father Sinclair, placed it in an envelope, and then 
told the driver to pass by the glebe-house. The 
pastor came out to the sleigh and received the 
envelope from Melgrove’s own hand. The next step, 
he was told, was to secure Maglundy’s signature, 
and the deal would be complete. 

“ Things are going on satisfactorily, are they not 
asked Father Sinclair. “I suppose you have not 
time to come over to the Library.^ Miss Garvey 
and the Revising Committee are in there, hard at 
work on some new books.” 

The Melgroves walked over with the pastor to 
the Library and there found the artist Wehrbach 
gesticulating and telling the chief that she had a 
fortune within her grasp. 

“Wehrbach has found a treasure,” said Miss 
Garvey, who came to welcome the unexpected visi- 
tors, “ and he is telling us all about it.” 

It was Wehrbach’s turn now. 

'"Mein lieben, ein tresure! Vhy dis fraulein” — 
he thought Miss Garvey owned the Library, parish 
and all — “hass ein vortune. Gorrege! Gorrege! 

281 


Mrs* Melgrovc Gives the Chief 


Loog ad dot name! Loog ad dot rock! Zee dot 
name on id! Glaubel will her dhirty dhousand 
thalers gif for dot bainting, undt berhaps vifty dhou- 
sand.” 

Father Sinclair bent down and read, in plain 
letters, “Correggio fecit.” There was little doubt 
about the genuineness of the work. The thorough 
cleaning Wehrbach had given the canvas had brought 
out the original tones; and there, in all its freshness, 
its palpitating life and joyousness, its rhythmic 
lines, its melting and graceful contours, its color and 
its glowing atmosphere, stood before them a work 
direct from the brush of the immortal Faun of the 
Renaissance. 

Wehrbach had almost succeeded in communi- 
cating his enthusiasm to those present. 

“We must tell Burton about this,” said Father 
Sinclair. “ It will be a nine days’ wonder in the city. 
He can get a half-tone engraving and give Correggio 
a puff in his paper.” 

“What an advertisement for the Library!” ex- 
claimed Melgrove, laughing. “Miss Garvey, your 
Correggio is going to throw my Professor Flume 
into the shade completely.” 

“Looks like it,” answered the pastor. “Still we 
must not jump too quickly at conclusions. Wehr- 
bach may be mistaken.” 

The artist heard the remark. 

282 


A Few Emotions 


“ Mishdaken ! Iv I dot bainting zell vor dhirty 
dhousand thalers, will you gif me a gommission?” 

“How much do you ask?’’ 

“ Den her zent.” 

“Shall we?” Father Sinclair turned to Miss 
Garvey. 

“Certainly, Father; we need the money.” 

“Very well then, Mr. Wehrbach; get all you can 
for the painting. Your commission is ten per cent.” 

“ I vill go to New York domorrow to Herr 
Glaubel zee.” And the artist fairly danced himself 
out of the hall, he was so happy at the prospect. 

While Melgrove and the pastor were talking, the 
chief invited the other visitor over to the alcove where 
the Revisers were at work. But it was only the visit 
of an instant. When she was leaving the Hall, Mrs. 
Melgrove whispered into Miss Garvey’s ear: — 

“Say nothing for the moment, Mary, but Silas 
Maglundy has just added twenty-five thousand 
dollars to the Library Fund.” 

“Library Fund!” exclaimed the chief, with the 
greatest surprise — the secret had not yet been told 
her — “What library fund?” 

But her visitor said no more to enlighten her as 
to the turn things had taken. She merely added : 

'''The True Ministry of Wealth" did its work 
nobly.” 

The chief blushed not knowing what to say. 

283 


Mrs* Melgrovc Gives the Chief 


“And those exquisite bleeding-hearts; and the 
roses/’ continued her gentle tormentor. 

Miss Garvey was dumbfounded. 

“Come over to Ashbume Avenue to-morrow at 
two, and I will tell you all.” 

While the Melgroves and the pastor walked out 
to the sleigh, the chief returned to her desk. But 
under the plea of indisposition she shortly after left 
the hall and went home, utterly unnerved. 

It was a long, sleepless night for the energetic little 
lady. She lay awake and pondered. Twenty-five 
thousand dollars added to a library fund? Has a 
fund been already started? What sums have been 
given? Who were the donors? Something impor- 
tant is going on. She was aglow with expectancy. 
On the other hand, how did Mrs. Melgrove learn 
about the book and the flowers ? Had Maglundy’s 
tongue wagged too freely ? Where did she get hold 
of the news? How many knew it? Did Father 
Sinclair? Did any of the assistants? No wonder 
she lay awake for hours pondering over the words 
her best friend had whispered into her ears. It was 
almost daylight before her tired brain found rest 
in sleep. 

A stormy morning was the prelude of her visit 
to the Melgroves’. The thaw of the preceding day 
had been followed by a sudden fall of the mercury. 
The dripping water had hardened on the tree-trunks 
284 


A Few Emotions 


and branches, and the park and avenues were 
clothed in purest crystal. When the sun’s rays began 
to pierce the air and shed their light on the glassy 
twigs and branches, Laurenboro was transformed 
into a fairyland of matchless splendor. The faintest 
breath of wind moved the countless tiny icicles 
which hung from the trees along Ashburne Avenue 
and made them sparkle with an incomparable radi- 
ance. Now and then, a heavily-laden branch 
bending under its glittering burden, finally gave 
way, and, crashing through the lower limbs, reached 
the gi*ound amid a perfect shower of scintillating 
crystals. One such came within an ace of falling on 
Miss Garvey near the Melgrove mansion. It gave 
her quite a start, and she rushed nervously up the 
steps, feeling very thankful for having escaped an 
accident which sometimes happens to less fortunate 
pedestrians in Laurenboro. 

The hostess had a warm welcome for her friend 
and co-worker, warmer than usual, perhaps, for the 
interview that afternoon was destined to be mem- 
orable. Besides, Mrs. Melgrove was prepared to 
make amends for the surprise she had caused the 
chief librarian, and for the agitated state of mind 
she had left her in, the preceding afternoon. 

The hearth was glowing in the little parlor when 
the two ladies entered it. On the soft Polar mat 
before the fire, a fluffy Pomeranian was trying, in a 
285 


Mrs^ Mclgrove Gives the Chief 


playful way, to swallow Tiger, the kitten, one of 
little Helen’s former pets. This room was a cosy 
corner in a retired part of the large house, which 
only very dear friends of the Melgroves were privi- 
leged to enter. While the hostess helped Miss 
Garvey to doff her furs, the maid adjusted the 
samovar and set the cups and saucers where they 
would be close at hand. 

“ I have so many things to tell you to-day that I 
hardly know where to begin,” said Mrs. Melgrove 
smiling, as she threw the curtain aside and placed 
her visitor’s chair in a position where the soft rays 
from the southern window would light up her 
features. 

“ I did not sleep a wink, last night,” returned the 
visitor. “It was very cruel of you to keep me in 
suspense so long! What library fund did you 
refer to yesterday ? Please tell me at once.” 

“I will, my dear, at once,” said Mrs. Melgrove, 
seating herself beside Miss Garvey, with her needles 
and thread in her lap. “ It has been reserved for me 
to give you a pleasant surprise. Five gentlemen of 
Laurenboro have contnbuted fifty thousand dollars 
to found the Free Library; and your friend Mr. 
Maglundy has completed the seventy-five thousand. 
There is the news in a nutshell.” 

Miss Garvey looked at the speaker in amazement 
that, however, did not conceal her delight. 

286 


A Few Emotions 


“And who are the gentlemen besides my friend?” 
she asked, emphasizing the last two words. 

“The Graymers and the Molveys gave ten thou- 
sand each; the Caysons, twenty thousand; my hus- 
band, five; with Helen’s insurance of five thousand 
more.” 

“ This is perfectly delightful news,” exclaimed the 
little chief. “Are you really serious ?” 

“ Serious ? Burton was at the meeting here. He 
must have mentioned it m the Times. Father Sin- 
clair knows all about it.” 

“ He never so much as hinted the matter to me.” 

“Perhaps, you did not see him since.” 

“ A dozen times at least.” 

“Which means that he left to me the pleasurable 
task of informing you.” 

“ Really, it is just as well you did not tell me last 
night. I should not have slept anyway.” 

Aliss Garvey displayed by her joyful animation 
the rousing effect of the good news. So many 
thoughts crowded through her brain that she scarcely 
knew how to express her feelings. The possibilities 
of the work to which she was consecrating her time 
b^an suddenly to loom up before her vision. She 
already saw a laige edifice, with hundreds of shelves 
stocked with books, and a dozen of librarians running 
from shelf to shelf to supply the wants of the readers 

who flocked in in ever-increasing numbers. Her 
287 


Mrs* Mclgrovc Gives the Chief 


little frame thrilled with emotion when she realized 
that these dreams of hers were on the point of being 
realized; and she repeated that she was positively 
charmed at the prospect. 

‘‘But I have other news for you,” said Mrs. Mel- 
grove, who rose from her chair and began to fill the 
tiny tea cups. 

“And what is it, pray.^ Do tell me quick 
exclaimed the impatient little visitor. 

“Only a trifle. Some one is tampering with the 
heart of Mr. Maglundy, the millionaire, that’s all. 
Excuse me, I must speak to the maid.” 

The hostess left the room. She had a purpose in 
doing so. She desired to give her visitor a chance 
to prepare what she was going to answer. Mrs. 
Melgrove wished only to be useful to Mary Garvey. 
But her tact moved her, at the same time, to save 
that lady’s feelings in the present interview, and to 
throw all the blame on Maglundy, if his heart was 
softening. 

The little visitor knew that there was no way to 
avoid the coming ordeal. The passing mention of 
the book and the flowers, which Mrs. Melgrove had 
made the day before in the Library Hall, told her 
that something was out, and that there was no use try- 
ing to parry with so shrewd a woman as her hostess. 

The latter did not give her time to say a W’ord 

when she re-entered the room, but kept right on : — 
288 


A Few Emotions 


*‘We called on the old gentleman at the Provi- 
dence yesterday, and I could detect by his words 
that my little friend here had made an impression 
on him; had, in fact, secured a warm corner in his 
heart. You do not realize what a conquest those 
flowers made. They have been as a ray of sunshine 
to Silas Maglundy; and I almost think he is glad 
he fell ill.” 

“ The dreadful old idiot!” exclaimed IVIiss Garvey, 
with apparent indifference. “What did he say.^ 
Cannot a person send flowers to a friend of the 
Library, now a patient in a hospital, without trying 
to make a conquest ^ He must be hopelessly insane.” 

Miss Garvey was parrying after all. Had Ma- 
glundy blurted out something or other in presence 
of the Melgroves ? She felt relieved, however, that 
the burden had been transferred to his shoulders; 
though she knew in her heart of hearts that she 
herself was at the bottom of it all. 

“He is not hopelessly insane, by any means,” 
retorted Mrs. Melgrove. “He is quite responsible 
for his words and actions. I confess I was surprised 
when the truth dawned upon me; but I am exceed- 
ingly well pleased.” 

“What do you mean, Mrs. Melgrove Do you 
want me to marry old Maglundy.^” asked the little 
lady, looking vexed. 

“Not necessarily. I could ask you to reflect over 
289 


Mrs* Hcigrovc Gives the Chief 


it. You might do a worse thing. The old man is 
kind, large-hearted, and affectionate. Any limita- 
tions he possesses would soon disappear under your 
skilful, wifely training. He is alone in the great 
mansion at Howarth and Buell Streets. Think of 
what your position would be in that splendid home. 
Think of the amount of good you could do with the 
old man’s millions. Think of Mr. Maglundy’s 
soul, on which your influence would have lasting 
effects.” 

The cause was pleaded so skilfully, and the argu- 
ments had such weight with the little visitor, that 
she sat silent, with her eyes filled with tears — in a 
woman the most potent sign of vanquishment. 

Miss Garvey promised to think over the matter. 
She should have said that she would give it further 
thought; for she had been thinking over it for many 
a day. As far as she was concerned, her mind was 
fully made up. Her only preoccupation now was 
the embarrassment she should experience when Ma- 
glundy came for his books. 

“Does any one suspect Mr. Maglundy’s inten- 
tions?” she asked, with an anxious look. 

“Not one has spoken to me,” replied Mrs. Mel- 
grove. 

“Does Mr. Melgrove or Father Sinclair know 
anything about it?” 

“I do not think so. I know my husband does not.” 

290 


A Few Emotions 


There was a sigh of relief, the first that had escaped 
her in that eventful hour. The chief was wise enough 
to know that nothing keeps so poorly as a secret; 
and she decided there and then to send no more 
flowers to the Providence, and to let events take their 
course. 

Little Helen’s death and Mrs. Melgrove’s com- 
paratively lonely life without her, naturally formed 
one of the afternoon’s topics; but the noble mother 
asserted more than once that she should not wish to 
see her child back again. The worries and cares 
of life were over for Helen. The close friendship of 
even such sterling friends as Miss Garvey, and a 
very few others, could hardly fill the void in her 
heart caused by the loss of her little daughter; but 
she was quite resigned to wait and see her in heaven. 
It was decided, however, that the chief librarian 
should make her visits more frequent. So many 
new phases had developed recently in their common 
work that the need of mutual help and counsel was 
more than ever felt. 

That same afternoon the chief called to see Father 
Sinclair at the glebe-house. She had a despatch 
from Wehrbach; and, besides, the news of the founda- 
tion of the Laurenboro Free Library was uppermost 
in her mind. She desired to know how the new order 
of things would affect her standing, and whether she 

should speak about it to the assistants. 

291 


Mrs> Mclgfove Gives the Chief 


“Who gave you all the news?” asked the pastor. 

“ Mrs. Melgrove, this very afternoon; and, Father 
Sinclair, you knew all about it, and you never told 
me a word.” The little lady had a way of her own 
of looking vexed. 

“The news is common property, Miss Garvey. 
The Times mentioned the gift last week. Was that 
all Mrs. Melgrove told you?” 

The pastor did not really mean to insinuate any- 
thing. He could not possibly have had an inkling 
of Mrs. Melgrove’s confidence to the chief. He did 
not even know that she had had wind of the book 
and bouquet episode; but he struck the nail so 
straight that the little lady grew nervous. 

What he meant was a scheme that he himself had 
suggested to the Melgroves on the occasion of his 
last visit to their house. He had proposed that the 
five thousand dollar insurance policy should be 
applied to the purchase of books for the Children’s 
Department, and that the corner should be called 
the “Helen Melgrove Section,” in memory of their 
little daughter. The Melgroves had asked time to 
think over this delicate suggestion of their pastor, 
and had not yet given their last word. 

“That was all the news of the Library she gave 
me,” answered Miss Garvey, demurely. “But it 
was excellent news. May I give all the details to 
the assistants?” 


A Few Emotions 


“ Why not ? Tell them that their field of useful- 
ness will soon be enlarged. Do you think that your 
time will permit you to assume the direction of the 
Library when it goes to its new quarters 

“ Certainly, Father. But where are the new 
quarters going to be.^” she asked, excitedly; for this 
was a detail that Mrs. Melgrove had not mentioned. 

“ That has not been decided yet. But somewhere 
in the neighborhood of Howarth and Buell Streets 
has been suggested. Our friend Mr. Maglundy will 
not have far to come for books, if that scheme can 
be arranged,” said Father Sinclair. “The dear old 
man had quite a shock last week. He told me that 
he is a frequenter of the Library; and that he has 
many a good friend there. He appreciates the treat- 
ment he has been receiving. That is one of the 
reasons why he has been so generous to the work. 
He is an excellent old man. I am sorry he has to 
lead such an isolated life in that big house of his. ” 
That was all Father Sinclair said; but it gave Miss 
(jarvey food for thought, and made her blush deeply. 
But blushes have no tongue to tell the why or where- 
fore of their sudden coming; they are simply signs 
in crimson that, like shorthand, need the context 
for their interpretation. The little lady discerned a 
world of meaning in her pastor’s words. Had he 
also seized the context.^ Were he and Mi’s. Mcl- 
grove conspiring for a match between Maglundy and 
293 


Mrs* Mclgrove Gives the Chief 

hei’self? And yet she had her friend’s word for it 
that, so far as she was aware, Father Sinclair knew 
nothing about the matter. 

She was puzzled and weary, and when she reached 
home that evening, it was to ask herself whether she 
had done anything unseemly in being kind to an old 
man on his bed of pain, or in showing him her sym- 
pathy after a manner that obtains in social life. 

In her flurry she forgot to show the pastor the 
despatch she had from Wehrbach, who informed her 
that Herr Glaubel was convinced of the genuineness 
of the Correggio, and had offered him twenty-five 
thousand dollars for it; but Wehrbach was holding 
out for thirty. 

“Let Wehrbach get all he can,” she mused; and 
she answered his despatch in that strain. 

“ Twenty-five thousand dollai-s will add many new 
books to the Library, ” she continued. “ What a day 
of surprises this has been to me. One hundred 
thousand dollars for a libraiy that did not exist four 
months ago; and the possibility of a millionaire 
proposing marriage one of these days. Histoiy can- 
not be repeating itself in my case. Such a thing 
never happened before. This surely must be a 
romance. ” 

The little lady admitted later that the prospects 
made her smile. But she might have added that 
these were the results of her own tact and irood 

o 


A Fev/ Emotions 


management. She had made the Free Library 
popular, and thereby demonstrated that it was badly 
needed. After such a brilliant four months’ labor 
did she not deserve the hand and heart of even a 
millionaire ? 


295 









CHAPTER XXV 


Silas Maglundy Earns the Gratitude of Laurenboro 

nr^HE Committee had set to work in earnest and 
^ had been busily engaged for a week hunting 
up a suitable site for the new Library. All the avail- 
able points in the city were examined; but in the end 
they had to revert to Father Sinclair’s suggestion 
that some place in the neighborhood of Howarth 
Street should be secured. Howarth and Milton, 
Howarth and Livingston, Howarth and Buell, were 
ideal spots for a public library. But they bordered 
on the residential portion of the city, and the prices 
asked were far higher than the Committee felt in- 
clined to pay. After a week’s investigation, no 
decision had been arrived at. 

The only proprietor who had not been seen was 
Silas Maglundy. His residence had been visited 
from top to bottom by the Committee; and while 
large sums of money would be required to transform 
the interior into a library, the site and its surround- 
ings would justify the outlay. The vacant ground 
could be used later for purposes of extension, if 
occasion called for it. 

The old man, though convalescent, was still at the 
297 


Silas Magitindy Earns 


Providence, and it was decided that three of the 
Committee — Cayson, Molvey, and Melgrove — should 
wait on him that afternoon, lay their plans before him 
in a business way, and ask at what price he would 
sell his house. 

Maglundy was notified by telephone of the intended 
visit, and of the nature of the business. He was 
consequently not taken by surprise when the three 
gentlemen were ushered into Room H. Melgrove 
was the only one of the three whom he had met. 
Molvey and Cayson were introduced, and as the 
doctor in charge had asked that the visit be as short 
as possible, so as not to tire the patient, Melgrove 
informed him of their effort to secure a site, and of 
the choice they had made of his residence, if it could 
be had at a reasonable figure. 

“Gentlemen,” said the invalid, after Melgrove 
had ceased to speak, “ I have been over this world a 
good deal, and I am not so much attached to any 
spot that I cannot part with it. We must leave all 
some day. Where a man lives matters little. Since 
I received your message this morning, I have done 
a great deal of thinking, and here is what I have 
decided. If you want my residence, you may have 
it. As to the price, it shall cost Father Sinclair 
nothing. I will make a gift of it to him just as soon 
as I leave this hospital. The only reservation I 

would make is that I be allowed to retain temporary 
298 


The Gratitude of Latirenboro 


possession of a few rooms till I can arrange my 
affairs. I am an old man, and I need the attentions 
of a helpmate. I may enter into marriage before 
long. I shall then move to a smaller residence. 

“Meanwhile,” he added, “you may consider this 
deal as settled, and continue to work in the interests 
of the library. I am only too glad that I can at last 
do something worth while for my fellow-citizens. 
My fountain on Blenheim Square was not well re- 
ceived; I understand the reason now. I depended 
too much on my own judgment. But one grows 
wiser as one grows older. Last week, on the surgeon’s 
table, I learned the nothingness of earthly possessions. 

After Maglundy’s generous promise, the visit was 
not long prolonged beyond measure. The Com- 
mittee were so utterly surprised that they had nothing 
to say. Melgrove alone, being spokesman, thanked 
the old man for his splendid gift. He would ap- 
prise Father Sinclair that very night; and in the 
name of the Board of Management he promised 
that a suitable acknowledgment should be made in 
the form of a slab or pillar. 

“Slabs! Pillars! Monuments! What do they 
amount to.^” exclaimed Maglundy, rising in his bed 
and looking intently at his visitors. “It is my soul 
that I want to profit by these gifts. No more slabs 
for me; that is all pride — all rank nonsense, gentle- 
men. When I think of that cow in Blenheim Square, 
299 


Silas Maglundy Earns 


I nearly die of shame. What a fool I was! Would 
you ask Fawther Sinclair to- call and see me 

The committee left the room impressed and edified 
with the change that had taken place in Maglundy, 
and rejoicing at the gift whereby they saved at least 
fifty thousand dollars. 

It nearly took the pastor’s breath away when Mel- 
grove gave him the news. He hastened to the Provi- 
dence to thank Maglundy. The old man was sitting 
in an easy chair when the pastor entered. He held 
out his hand and reasserted all that he had told the 
Committee. 

“ But there is that other matter I wish to straighten 
out before I quit the Providence, Fawther, and I 
should like to ask your help and counsel. Let me 
give the details.” 

It was no longer a suggestion to improve the design 
for a public fountain, nor was it an inscription in a 
dead language, nor yet a speech to be written for him. 
Grace had done its work. 

“Fawther, ten years ago, I entered into partner- 
ship with a young miner in California.. We agreed 
to locate quartz and placer claims and divide the 
profits. This plan worked well for two years; we 
acquired valuable property. At the end of that time, 
I discovered that my partner was a vile adventurer, 
who, instead of earning an honest living as a miner, 
preferred to live by his wits. He had been an actor 


The Gratitude of Laurcnfaoro 


on the stage for years, and used his knowledge to 
fleece everyone he met. One day I bought out his 
interests in our claims, at his own price; he disap- 
peared, and never since have I heard of him. Shortly 
after, I struck the rich quartz vein on these claims 
which was the foundation of my fortune. The 
miners of San Jacinto thought that I had had a 
previous knowledge of the vein; that I had taken 
unfair advantage of a brother miner, and they were 
going to proceed to violence to recover the interests 
of my late partner. But the law upheld me, and I 
felt that I should take no further notice of the trans- 
action. However, my conscience is not at rest. I 
should be well pleased to do some favor to my old 
partner, if he could be found. I would make him 
independent for the rest of his days. ” 

This revelation put a different aspect on the San 
Jacinto incident, as related by Father Gol worth, 
who undoubtedly had only the popular version of 
the deal. 

“What can I do in the matter.^” asked Father 
Sinclair. 

“Write to the postmaster of San Jacinto, who 
knows all the miners in the district, and inquire for a 
well-known character — Crookwood by name.” 

“ Crookwood !” exclaimed the pastor. 

“That was the man’s name. I never knew him 
by any other.” 


Silas Maglandy Earns 


“A tall, thin man, with blue eyes, and a heavy 
gash across his forehead?” 

“That is the man,” said the invalid, almost ris- 
ing from his chair. “Why, Fawther, do you know 
him.?” 

“Crookwood was in Laurenboro ten days ago. 
He called at the glebe-house and kept me in the parlor 
for over an hour. ” 

The pastor then related the experience with Nan- 
ny’s tramp. Maglundy’s surprise was extreme. 

“He is an impostor of the worst kind,” continued 
Father Sinclair. “ He succeeded in getting two 
hundred dollars from the employees of the Great 
Western; he got I do not know how much from the 
Hayden Street Tabernacle people; he got ten dollars 
out of me.” 

“These are his old tricks, Fawther. Crookwood 
is a genius. Did he faint? Did he tell you the 
pathetic story of his ruin in mining in California ?” 

“He did not mention mining at all. His present 
specialty is wife-killing. He fainted splendidly. He 
did not speak of California; he knows New York, 
apparently,” answered the pastor. 

“The man told me often that he was born in New 
York, and then drifted westward. He may have 
returned East after I parted with him. But what 
should I do?” 

“Mr. Maglundy, you owe Crookwood nothing. 

302 


The Gratitude of Laurenboro 


So let your conscience rest. I am sure he will never 
trouble you. ” 

This was a relief to the old man, who continued: — 

“I have ordered the contractors to remove the 
fountain from Blenheim Square. I shall ask you, 
Fawther, to select a design in its place. 

This was a more pleasant task than trying to im- 
prove on the original one, and Father Sinclair 
promised he would provide a design that should be 
a credit both to Maglundy and Laurenboro. 

The millionaire did not appear in the Library 
Hall for several weeks after he left the Providence, 
although he managed to get to Mass every morning. 
The tremendous change that had taken place in him 
was the topic of conversation among his friends for 
many days, and was attributed to his illness. But 
Father Sinclair, who saw things more clearly than 
others, went one step further. The fear of death 
has made stouter hearts than Maglundy ’s quail. It 
is a terrific blow to one’s pride and ambition to find 
oneself looking over a chasm and to see the efforts 
of a life-time on the verge of submersion. In Ma- 
glundy’s case, it was a great favor God had done him, 
in opening his eyes. The old man recognized this; 
he was trying to make amends for his past life. His 
forty years of forgetfulness rose up continually like 
a mountain between himself and his Maker; and 
Father Sinclair had several times to encourage him 
303 


Silas Maglondy Earns 

lest he should fall into despair. All was not lost, he 
was told. 

How carve the way i’ the life that lies before. 

If bent on groaning for the past ? 

He could try to make up for wasted time by greater 
fervor and more assiduous care of his soul. 

“I feel now that God did well to send me that ill- 
ness,” he told Father Sinclair, while the pastor was 
accompanying him up Howarth Street. “During 
the years I was in California, I did nothing but ac- 
quire property for the sake of becoming a millionaire. 
When I struck that rich lode, I saw that my goal w as 
reached. I thought I had captured the earth. And 
now after it is all over, I find that if I wait long 
enough I shall get only six feet of it, with a coffin 
thrown in. ” 

Maglundy reasoned like a philosopher, but he had 
become a child again in the hands of Father Sinclair, 
and he asked him for books of piety to occupy his 
leisure hours. The old man felt lonely in that great 
house at Howarth and Buell Streets. He considered 
it no longer his, but the property of the Laurenboro 
Library. He had reserved several rooms on the 
second floor for his own use, and here he used to 
pace up and down for hours at a time. 

But these were his gloomy days. Occasionally 
he would brighten up, order his sleigh, and drive 

down-town. The news tliat he had donated his 
304 


The Gratitude of Laurenboro 


residence and twenty-five thousand dollars for library 
purposes had roused the enthusiasm of all who had 
the interests of the institution at heart. Burton had 
written many complimentary things about him in the 
Times, which everybody said were well deserved. 

His first appearance in the Library Hall after his 
convalescence was the signal for an ovation. Miss 
Garvey was asked to read him an address, but she 
declined; she felt indisposed. So Clare Cayson, 
who had become her first and ablest assistant, read 
it in her stead, and it pleased the old man very much. 
Uncle Silas from that time forward became a general 
favorite with all the librarians. They no longer let 
Miss Garvey monopolize him when he came, as she 
had done on former occasions. They crowded 
around him and begged for stories of mining life in 
far-off California. Camp stories were all that Silas 
cared to tell. For the special pleasure of the libra- 
rians he told them how he met Bret Ilarte at San 
Jacinto; whereupon Clare sidled away and brought 
the happy old man a couple of that author’s volumes 
to read. 

IMaglundy had a tenacious memory, and he told a 
story well. He became so interesting, and had so 
many reminiscences to relate, that the assistants 
waited on him in a body one day and asked him to 
tell them the story of his life. The large alcove, 
with its round table, was an ideal spot for stoiy-tell- 
305 


The Gratitude of Laurenboro 

ing, and they said they should be very much obliged 
to him if he would come. 

Of course, Maglundy promised. All this deference 
and attention, coining from the young ladies, tickled 
the old miner immensely, and he told Father Sinclair 
later that he got more pleasure and more satisfaction 
in life in listening to the innocent chattering of IVIiss 
Garvey’s librarians than he felt the day he heard 
the cheers of the crowd surging around the cow on 
Blenheim Square. 

Miss Garvey did not object to all this bustle about 
the millionaire. Since the others had taken posses- 
sion of him, in his weekly visits, she kept quite aloof — 
it became her in her dignity of cliief. She was as 
kind and as affable as ever; but the little lady did 
not know just where she stood. She was shrew'd 
enough to know that a secret half out was no longer 
safe; she had never been able to learn whether the 
assistants knew anything about the flowers. The 
truth is, she did not care to ask them. 

“Secrets will pop out,” she mused to herself , one 
day; “and shouldn’t I have a time with these six 
assistants, if mine ever did!” 


306 


CHAPTER XXVI 


A Marriage — and All Ends Well 

rp^HE winter was passing away rapidly. Several 
heavy thaws had begun to tell on the drifts 
in the avenues. The huge piles of snow, relics of the 
December blizzard, which Mayor Bruce did not see 
fit to have removed to the Brono, and which accord- 
ingly gave Laurenboro a special aspect — to attract 
winter tourists, the Mayor said — were dwindling 
sensibly under the rays of the March sun. Tiny 
streams followed the car tracks down the hill to ffie 
river front, while here and there, on the elevations 
and the empty lots, could be seen tufts of last year’s 
growth — harbingers of green grass and May flowers. 

Thus came the lovely spring with rush of blossoms and 
music. 

Filling the earth with flowers, and the air with melodies 
vernal. 

A new life was coursing through the veins of 
Nature. Laurenboro was rising out of her sleep 
after the piercing cold of the North had fled^ and 
the long cheerless winter; cheerless, in very deed, 
for the season just ending would long be remembered 

as the year of the Gottingen crisis. 

307 


A Marriage 


No one felt the invigorating influences of the new 
life more than Silas Maglundy. Every afternoon 
he was seen walking down Howarth Street, inhaling 
the fresh spring air, and receiving the congratulations 
of his friends on his recovery from what he himself 
thought was a “ close call. ” 

The legal transfer of his property had been made 
to Father Sinclair, pending the introduction of a bill 
t)f incorporation; and the contractors had already 
begun to transform the great mansion into a public 
library. The old man followed the work of alter- 
ation with the deepest interest. He watched every 
detail of the work, and asked many questions. It 
was he who reported progress weekly to the chief 
and her assistants; he made their hearts glad by the 
evident satisfaction at the part he was playing in the 
whole enterprise. All this distraction and activity 
had a beneficial effect on him. His physical well- 
being influenced his spiritual; he was consequently 
in the best of humor most of the time. 

One day he met Burton. The editor of the Times 
was interviewing the contractors when Maglundy 
walked up and took his hand. 

“ Mr. Editor, you were hard on me once,” he said, 
softly. 

“I was once, only once, I believe,” answered 
Burton, “but I will never be again. The work you 

are doing here in Laurenboro makes one forget the 
308 


And All Ends Well 


past ; it is going to give you an honored name amongst 
us.” 

“ Something more in it than there was in that cow 
on Blenheim Square, isn’t there But we are fiiends 
are we not, Burton.^” 

The old man clasped his hand tightly. 

Burton acquiesced readily. The Blenheim Square 
episode, brought up so suddenly, gave the editor a 
nervous twitch, and he decided to change the topic 
as soon as he could. 

“ ]Mr. Maglundy,” he ventured, “I intend to give 
this new Library a good send-off when it is completed, 
and shall make amends for hurting your feelings 
on a former occasion. Have you a photo of your- 
self.^ Many of my readers are anxious to see the 
man whose name is on everybody’s lips these days.” 

“I have no picture of myself, Mr. Burton. Any 
one who wants to see Silas Maglundy may walk 
along Howarth Street any afternoon that it doesn’t 
rain. Will not that meet the demand .5^” he asked. 

“Not at all,” persisted Burton. “Thousands of 
my readers live out of town, and they are deeply 
interested in your career. A sketch of your life and 
a half-tone will tell them all about you, and raise 
you in public esteem.” 

But the editor had overshot his mark. Maglundy 
was no longer the same man. 

“All folly. Burton! All rank nonsense, sir! ” he 
309 


A Marriage 


retorted. “ The esteem of my fellow-citizens I 
appreeiate, but I am not going to use artificial 
methods to secure it. The nearness of death taught 
me the vanity of many things. This is one of them. 
Henceforth, I will not work for the esteem of men. 
Anything I may do in the future shall be done to help 
me to save my soul. If public esteem follows that 
kind of work, let it come. But I will not run after 
it.” 

This logie appealed to the clear head of the editor, 
and he positively admired the speaker. The tre- 
mendous change that had taken place in the heart 
of the old millionaire made a deep impression on 
Burton, and he could not help telling Father Sinclair 
when he saw him soon after, that there were con- 
versions besides those to the Faith. 

“Certainly,” replied the pastor, “and it is often 
a harder task to convert a Catholie than to bring one 
in from outside of the fold. In the present case, all 
that the old man needed was a good shock. He 
got it the day he was taken to the Providence. It 
was a great favor God did to him; his duty now is 
to persevere.” 

“And die happily?” added Burton, smiling. 

“And die happily,” echoed the pastor. 

“ But isn’t the old gafter going to get married ? 
He told the Committee so ? 

The question was rather blunt; but Father Sin- 


And All Ends WeU 


clair merely answered: “Things more improbable 
than that have happened. ” 

“ On my honor, if I could get the name of the 
future bride,” said Burton, enthusiastically, “I’d 
give the old hero a column in the Times, with a 
‘scare head.’ That marriage is perplexing me.” 

It was perplexing more than the editor. Father 
Sinclair kept his own counsel; but even he did not 
know how things were going to turn out. Maglundy 
himself was in a quandary, not as to who the party 
of the second part should be — that was settled long 
ago — but as to how he should go about it, or where 
the beginning of the end was to be. 

One day, late in March, Miss Garvey was showing 
him some rare books she had just received — the 
chief was always in good humor every time a new 
instalment came. She had just told Maglundy that 
when the Library was transferred to his residence, 
she should be able to secure whole editions of such 
works. 

“What a splendid site! I passed the door again 
yesterday. And what a world of good this Library 
is going to do for years. Mr. Maglundy,” she ex- 
claimed enthusiastically, “ my whole heart is in this 
work. ” 

The old man looked around ; they were quite alone. 

“Your whole heart Isn’t that too much to give. 

Miss Garvey ? Could you not spare half — just half 
311 


A Marriage 

— for an old man whom the world calls a millionaire ? 
Just half?” 

The world did not hear the answer. The world 
consequently will never know how it was done. 
But three days later, all Laurenboro read in the 
Personal Column of the Times : — 

The marriage of Mr. Silas Maglundy, the California 
millionaire, and Miss Mary Garvey, one of Laurenboro’s 
popular young ladies, is a function of the near future. 
The date will be announced later. 

That and nothing more. But it was enough. 
Melgrove nearly gasped for breath when he took 
up the paper that night. 

“ Foxy grandpa! ” he shouted. “ You’re a crack- 
erjack. ” 

“Land’s sake! Did you ever?” exclaimed Clare 
Cayson, who nearly fainted. 

“ Bravo ! bravo!” echoed the rest of Laurenboro. 
The engagement was a nine days’ wonder in the 
parish. Even Miss Garvey surmised it would be. 
Perhaps that was the reason she kept out of sight 
for a couple of weeks. - 

But everybody was pleased. The little lady found 
that out after her engagement to Maglundy was an- 
nounced. More than a hundred notes of congrat- 
ulation came to her from friends and well-wishers. 

The absence of the chief from her usual post did 
not hinder the work in the library. Everything 


And AH Ends Wefl 


went on as usual. Maglundy did not miss a week. 
Regularly, every Wednesday afternoon, he dropped 
in with his volume under his arm, utterly oblivious 
of the good-natured comments of the assistants and 
the readers who chanced to be exchanging their 
books. 

Clare Cayson was always kind and pleasant to the 
old gentleman and helped him, as Miss Garvey 
would have done, in choosing his book for the week. 
In fact, she went out of her way to oblige him, and 
rummaged through half a section one day to find a 
volume she desired him to read. 

“ How should you like to read K — 39 : ‘ Fishing 
for Millions V ” she asked him, meanwhile handing 
the book over the counter. 

“ That will do. Astory of ocean perils, I suppose ?” 
said he, wrapping it up carefully. 

“No,” replied Clare, “fishing on dry land.” 

“Indeed! Fishing on dry land! The work must 
be interesting.” He never suspected what Clare 
was hinting at. “I shall read it with pleasure. I 
do not see the chief librarian here any more. Is 
she unwell .^” 

“Only indisposed,” answered Clare. “I think 
she is busy. ” 

“Indeed! busy.” 

“Yes; so she said. It must be her wedding 

trousseau that is keeping her away.” 

313 


A Marriage 


“ How Interesting ! ” 

And the old man left the hall without giving her one 
bit of news. 

The main thing the assistants wished to know was 
whether any date had been fixed for the wedding or 
not. It was decided among them that a splendid 
wedding gift should be presented to Miss Garvey; 
and they, like the rest of mortals on similar occasions, 
were racking their brains to know what the gift should 
be. 

Father Sinclair was appealed to. It was a solemn 
moment when the six assistants, with Clare Cay- 
son at their head, appeared at the glebe-house 
parlor. 

“Presents!” exclaimed the pastor. “Do you 
think, ladies, that Mr. Maglundy is not able to fur- 
nish his own home ? What would the old gentleman 
say to this ?” 

“But it is the custom. Father. Everybody does 
it,” broke in Clare Cayson. 

“And does it follow, Miss Cayson, that because 
everybody does it, the custom should be encouraged ? 
I have had some experience, and I know that the 
wedding-present mania here in Laurenboro has 
become a nuisance. I am sure that if Miss Garvey 
were consulted, she would unhesitatingly put her 
foot down on it.” 

“ But what are we to do to show her our apprecia- 
314 


And Afl Ends Well 

tion asked Clare, who was the spokesman for the 
delegation. 

“Allow me to suggest something,” returned the 
pastor. “ The name of Garvey is soon to be changed 
into that of Maglundy. It would be a pity that so 
well-known a name should be buried in oblivion. 
Why not call one of the sections in the new Library 
the ‘ Mary Garvey Section’ ? ” 

“ Splendid,” exclaimed all in unison. 

“ And fill it with fiction suitable for elderly million- 
aires,” added Clare Cayson, laughing. “I propose 
that we girls” — turning to her co-workers — ^“present 
the Garvey Section with morocco-bound copies of 
‘ The Wooing of Silas\ ‘ The Unwilling Bachelor^' 
^ The True Ministry of Wealth J and 'Fishing for 
Millionsr^ 

The assistants left the glebe-house in a high state 
of exultation. Nothing could have pleased them half 
so well as the novel wedding present, not because it 
was a cheap and easy solution of what is very often 
a dear problem, but rather because the little chief 
had won her way into their hearts ; and they would 
have regretted to see her honored name forgotten. 

Father Sinclair’s suggestion was the result of the 
favorable reply he had received from the Melgroves 
about a similar affair. When he suggested that 
Helen’s insurance money should be devoted to the 

purchase of books for the young and that the chil- 
315 


A Marriage 


dren’s corner be called the “ Helen Melgrove Section,” 
the family at first objected to the latter clause. They 
were rather averse to that kind of fame. At last they 
yielded, when the pastor told them that it seemed to 
him a very appropriate way of perpetuating httle 
Helen’s memory. There was to be a “ Cayson 
Section, ” a “ Molvey Section, ” a “Graymer Section ; ” 
there was no reason why there should not be a “ Mel- 
grove Section.” Such being the case, Horace Mel- 
grove waived his title to immortality in favor of his 
little daughter. Greater glory was reserved in the 
mind of the pastor for Silas Maglundy. He had 
not yet decided what should be the nature of it ; but 
it was to be something worth while. 

These delicate tasks took up Father Sinclair’s 
spare moments during the first half of the month of 
May. His correspondence with publishers and with 
the public libraries all over the country had grown 
so enormous that he could no longer cope with it, 
and he thought seriously of engaging some one to 
carry it on for him. He broached the subject one 
evening during a committee meeting. 

“ I hear that the Elzevir people are going to dis- 
pense with young Newell’s services,” said Molvey. 
” He should be able to fill the position. ” 

“What’s up.^^” asked the pastor, a plan suddenly 
dawning on him of working his way into the hearts 
of the Newell family. 


316 


And All Ends Well 


“Simply this,” replied Molvey, “the Directors of 
the Elzevir tried last winter to hoodwink our people 
by engaging a Catholic secretary. They have from 
the very beginning been trying to alienate sympathy 
from our enterprise. But they find that we are too 
strong for them. Their circulation has decreased 
one-third since Miss Garvey started to work. All 
this has soured them against Catholics in general; 
and as a result they have no further use for their 
secretary. ” 

“I will write to young Newell to-morrow, ” said 
Father Sinclair. “His experience would be useful 
to us. And, besides, I have other motives for ex- 
tending a friendly hand to that family. ” 

Meanwhile the reconstruction of the Maglundy 
mansion was proceeding rapidly. Space had already 
been prepared for fifty thousand volumes, with room 
for as many more. Large cases began to arrive 
from the publishers. They were stored away await- 
ing revision. Father Sinclair urged the workmen to 
complete their labors before June. As an earnest of 
Divine protection, he desired to formally open the 
Library on the first day of the month consecrated 
to the Sacred Heart. 

Burton kept the public fully informed of the prog- 
ress of the work, and thereby excited the indigna- 
tion of several of the Elzevir Directors, who told 
him it was a disgrace to journalism in a free country 
317 


A Marriage 


to advocate so strongly the principles of “ Sectarian- 
ism”; that Burton “ought to be ashamed of him- 
self to become, in this enlightened age, the apostle 
of medievalism.” 

But the editor only listened. It was only an- 
other phase of the struggle that should ever be 
waged between Truth and Error. 

It was not until the third week in May that the 
contractors handed the key of the reconstructed 
Maglundy mansion to Father Sinclair. The pastor 
sent it with a note to the chief librarian, inviting 
her to take possession of her new quarters. 

The busy little lady was very much puzzled to 
know what he meant. He could not mean her to 
take possession as Miss Garvey; he should know 
that she was busy; he certainly could not ask her 
to go as Mrs. Maglundy, for the date when that title 
would be her own had not yet been decided on. 
Suddenly, the gist of the message dawned on her: 
she had not called on her pastor since her engage- 
ment was announced. 

The next morning a very welcome hand was ex- 
tended to her at the glebe-house, and God’s bless- 
ing called down on her kneeling form. It was 
aiTanged that the marriage should be solemnized 
on the last day of May. 

The rest of the tale is soon told. The wedding of 
the chief librarian was a gala day in the parish. 

318 


And AU Ends Well 


No event in recent years caused such widespread 
satisfaction. Clare Cayson, and her assistants, 
loyal to the end, had made St. Paul’s as attractive 
as they could. A long awning covered the passage 
from the curbstone to the main entrance of the 
church. Vases of flowers — roses and bleedinghearts 
being omitted, however — stood on graceful pillars 
at intervals along the aisle, while the kneeling benches 
near the sanctuary rail were covered with rich tap- 
estry. 

Long before the hour appointed for the ceremony 
a crowd of curious persons — mostly of the gentler 
sex — lined both sides of the street, all intent on 
getting at least a passing glance at the bride and 
her attire. When Miss Garvey alighted from her 
carriage, with the Melgroves and Clare Cayson, 
the searching gaze of so many eyes staring at her 
brought a perceptible color to her cheek. She 
hastened up the steps and into the church where 
the organ overhead was pouring out a flood of 
music in her honor. 

The millionaire was awaiting her at the altar- 
rail, and the marriage ceremony began immedi- 
ately. To the momentous questions put by Father 
Sinclair, the replies were given in tones that denoted 
deadly earnestness in the parties interested. After 
the nuptial mass, the millionaire and his bride 

started for the Great Western station and quietly left 
319 


A Marriage 


for a prolonged honeymoon in the Rockies. The 
crowd of ladies lingered around the church door to 
discuss the wedding and the prospects. But the 
comments were of a very friendly nature. Every- 
one congratulated the little lady on her good fortune; 
and everyone congratulated Silas Maglundy on his 
fortune equally good. 

It was during the absence of the couple that the 
opening of the splendid new Library Hall took 
place. There was no great commotion made in the 
flitting from the old home to the new. The books 
which were no longer serviceable for circulation 
were sent to the Seamen’s Home. The new volumes 
which were to replace them, and the other thousands 
which were to be added, had already reached the 
revising stage. They received their individual 
numbers, and were then thrown into circulation. 
It was a delicate suggestion of the pastor that 
secured the “Mary Garvey Section” at a place right 
opposite to the main entrance. The sign, in letters 
plain and legible, met the eyes of readers as they 
entered, and told them that the familiar name of 
the former chief librarian would not soon die in 
the memory of Laurenboro. In a short while the 
wheelw'ork of the new and enlarged institution 
turned just as smoothly as it did in the old. 

Young Kenneth Newell made an efficient secretary. 

So satisfactorily did he perform his duties that 
320 


And All Ends WeH 


Father Sinclair thought seriously of creating the 
office of Library Superintendent for him. This fact, 
among others, not merely reconciled the elder New- 
ell to the new order of things, but even threatened, 
from the trend events were taking, to provide Clare 
Cayson with a husband. 

When the last trace of snow disappeared. Father 
Sinclair carried out his promise to the millionaire, 
and gave the designs for a classic statue of Neptune 
to replace the cow, which had been sent to the junk- 
shop. At his own expense, a marble slab, with the 
names of the founders, was placed in the vestibule 
of the new library. 

Something more conspicuous was reserved for 
Silas Maglundy. At a secret meeting of the Com- 
mittee, Horace Melgrove carried a resolution that a 
sum of money be set aside to raise a bronze statue 
to Maglundy after his demise, to perpetuate the 
memory of one who deserved so well of Laurenboro. 

The old gentleman is still hale and hearty, and 
living happily in a modest home not three blocks 
away from his former princely mansion. In the 
evening of his life he may be seen sitting, with his 
devoted helpmate, under the shadow of a noble 
maple, listening to the cooing of the doves and the 
warbling of the song-birds, satisfied with himself 
and with the world at large. May many years elapse 

before a monument in bronze tells the story of his 
321 


A Marriage 


going ! His kind heart, rather than his strange career, 
has made all the world his friend. But the question 
is still asked by those not in the secret : — 

“Who trained Silas Was it Father Sinclair.^ 
Or wasn’t it Mary Garvey?” 


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Gertrude's Experience. o 41^ 

Godfrey the Hermit. Canon Schmid. o 35 

Golden Lily, The. Katharine T. Hinkson. o 45 

Great Captain, The. By Katharine T. Hinkson. o 45 

Great-Grandmother’s Secret. o 45 

Haldeman Children, The. By Mary E. Mannix. o 45 

Harry Dee; or, Working It Out. By Father Finn. o 85 

Harry Russell. A Rockland College Boy. By Rev. J. E. 

Copus, S.J. [Cuthbert]. o 85 

Heir op Dreams, An. Sallie Margaret O’Malley. o 45 

Her Father’s Right Hand. o 45 

His First and Last Appearance. By Father Finn. i 00 

Hop Blossoms. Canon Schmid. o 25 

Hostage of War, A. Mary G. Bonesteel. o 45 

How They Worked Their Way. Maurice F. Egan. o 75 

Inundation, The. Canon Schmid. o 40 

Jack Hildreth Among the Indians. 2 vols. Each, o 85 

Jack Hildreth on the Nile. Marion Ames Taggart. Cloth, o 85 
Jack O’Lantern. Mary T. Waggaman. o 45 

Juvenile Round Table. First Series. Stories by the Best 
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Klondike Picnic. Eleanor C. Donnelly. o 

Lamp op the Sanctuary. Cardinal Wiseman. o 2j, 

Legends of the Holy Child Jesus from Many Lands. A. Fowler 
Lutz. o 75 

Little Missy. Mary T. Waggaman. o 45 

Loyal Blue and Royal Scarlet. Marion A. Taggart. o 85 

Madcap Set at St. Anne’s. Marion J. Brunowe. o 45 

Marcelle. a True Story. o 45 

Mary Tracy’s Fortune. Anna T. Sadlier. o 45 

Master Fridolin. Emmy Giehrl. o 25 

Milly Aveling. Sara Trainer Smith. Cloth, c 85 

Mysterious Doorway. Anna T. Sadlier. c 45 

My Strange Friend. By Father Finn. o 25 

Nan Nobody. Mary T. Waggaman. o 45 

Old Charlmont’s Seed-Bed. Sara Trainer Smith, o 45 

Old Robber’s Castle. Canon Schmid. o 25 

Olive and the Little Cakes. o 45 

Our Boys’ and Girls’ Library. 14 vols. Each, o 25 

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Overseer of Mahlbourg. Canon Schmid. o 25 

Pancho and Panchita. Mary E. Mannix. o 40 

Pauline Archer. Anna T. Sadlier. o 45 

Pickle and Pepper. Ella Loraine Dorsey. o 85 

10 


Playwater Plot. The. By Mary T. Waggaman. o 6o 

Priest op Auvrigny. o 

Queen s Page. Katharine Tynan Hinlcson. o 45 

The Race for Copper Island. Rev. H. S. Spalding, S.J. 085 
Recruit Tommy Collins. Mary G. Bonesteel. o 45 

Richard; or, Devotion to the Stuarts. o 45 

Rose Bush. Canon Schmid. o 25 

Saint Cuthbert's. By Rev. J. E. Copus, S.J. o 85 

Sea-Gull’s Rock. J. Sandeau. o 45 

Shadows Lifted. Rev. J. E. Copus, S.J. o 85 

Sheriff of the Beech Fork, The. Rev. H. S. Spalding, S.J. o 85 
Strong-Arm op Avalon. By Mary T. Waggaman. o 85 

Summer at Woodville. Anna T. Sadlier. o 45 

Tales and Legends op the Middle Ages. F. De Capella. o 75 
Tales and Legends Series. 3 vols. Each, o 75 

Talisman, The. By Anna T. Sadlier. o 60 

Taming of Polly. Ella Loraine Dorsey. o 85 

Three Girls and Especially One. Marion A. Taggart. o 45 
Three Little Kings. Emmy Giehrl. o 25 

Tom’s Luckpot. Mary T. Waggaman. o 45 

Transplanting op Tessie, The. By Mary T. Waggaman. o 60 
Treasure op Nugget Mountain. M. A. Taggart. o 85 

Two Little Girls. By Lilian Mack. o 45 

Village Steeple, The. o 45 

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“But Thy Love and Thy Grace.” Rev. F. J. Finn, S.J. i 00 

Carroll Dare. By Mary T. Waggaman. i 25 

Circus Rider’s Daughter, The. A Novel. F. v. Brackel. i 25 
Connor D’Arcy’s Struggles. A Novel. Bertholds. i 25 

Corinne’s Vow. Mary T. Waggaman. i 25 

Dion and the Sibyls. A Classic Novel. Miles Keon. Cloth, i 25 
Fabiola. By Cardinal Wiseman. Popular Illustrated Edition, o 90 
Fabiola’s Sisters. A. C. Clarke. i 25 

Fatal Beacon, The. A Novel. By F. v. Brackel. i 25 

Hearts of Gold. A Novel. By I. Edhor. i 25 

Heiress op Cronenstein, The. Countess Hahn-Hahn. i 25 

Her Father’s Daughter. Katharine Tynan Hinkson. net, i 25 
Idols; or. The Secret of the Rue Chaussee d’Antin. De Navery. 

I 25 

In the Days of King Hal. Marion Ames Taggart. net, i 25 
‘‘Kind Hearts and Coronets.” A Novel. By J. Harrison. i 25 
Let No Man Put Asunder. A Novel. Josephine Mari6. i 00 


II 


Linked Lives. A Novel. Lady Gertrude Douglas. i 50 

Marcella Grace. A Novel. Rosa Mulholland. Illustrated 
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Miss Erin. A Novel. M. E. Francis. i 25 

Monk’s Pardon, The. Raoul de Navery. i 25 

Mr. Billy Buttons. A Novel. Walter Lecky. i 25 

Outlaw of Camargue, The. A Novel. A. de Lamothe. i 25 

Passing Shadows. A Novel. Anthony Yorke. i 25 

Pere Monnier’s Ward. A Novel. Walter Lecky. i 25 

PiLKiNGTON Heir, The. A Novel. By Anna T. Sadlier. i 25 

Prodigal’s Daughter, The. Lelia Hardin Bugg. i 00 

Red Inn op St. Lyphar, The. A Romance of La Vendee. By 
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Romance of a Playwright. Vte. Henri de Bomier. i 00 

Round Table op the Representative American Catholic 
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Round Table op the Representative French Catholic Novel- 
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Round Table op the Representative Irish and English Cath- 
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Ruler of The Kingdom, The. And other Phases of Life and 
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That Man’s Daughter. By Henry M, Ross. i 25 

True Story op Master Gerard, The. By Anna T. Sadlier. i 25 

Unraveling of a Tangle, The. By Marion A. Taggart. i 25 

Vocation op Edward Conway. A Novel. Maurice F. Egan, i 25 

Way that Led Beyond, The. By J. Harrison. i 25 

Woman op Fortune, A. Christian Reid. i 25 

World Well Lost. Esther Robertson. o 75 


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Life and Life-Work of Mother Theodore Gueri^ Foundreac 
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